CHAPTER 1
LACEY
The hiss of the espresso machine through my open bedroom door wakes me up, and I blink against the heavy exhaustion pressing on my eyelids. That feeling is notonlyexhaustion — a good chunk of it is grief, even weeks later — but I shove that down as far as I can manage, not wanting to feel it right now.
“No,” I grumble into the pillow, though there’s nobody here to hear me.
“What was that?” my home assistant asks, the little speaker lighting up with a blue ring around the top. “Begin morning routine?”
“No—” I start, trying to cut her off, but it’s too late. The large, floor-to-ceiling curtains to the right of my bed start to open, dragging along the carpet and letting in a blinding rectangle of late summer light.
The LEDs above my bed flick on. Birdsong starts to play from another speaker as the home assistant rambles through theweather — too hot — and the news — too depressing. I bury my face in my pillow and muffle a scream.
Five minutes later, lured by the smell of coffee, I’m in the kitchen, grabbing my espresso and dumping it into a glass for a latte. With the press of a button, the old coffee puck disposes, and I take the little container out, throwing it in the dishwasher and filling another for tomorrow morning, when I’ll inevitably be woken up far too early. Again.
I stir in milk and syrup, add a glass straw, and admire the drink before turning and walking toward the balcony, thinking I might be able to sit and enjoy it for a moment. But right as I open the balcony door, my phone starts to vibrate.
“Good morning,” I mutter, though it certainly doesn’t feel like it. Looking at my phone makes me realize what time it is, and rather than step out onto the balcony, I turn around, walking back into my apartment to get ready.
“Just making sure you’re up,” Vanessa says, in her low, deadpan voice. It’s a voice I know well. She and I have been best friends since before we both landed spots at Gaia Gaming. “Since you insisted on staying in the office until themiddle of the night.”
“You were up in the middle of the night, too,” I point out, setting my latte down on my dresser and rummaging for something to wear into the office. When I find a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, I grab the glass and take a quick sip of the drink — lavender and white chocolate syrups blended with milk and coffee. It’s perfect, and I’m pretty sure lavender is in bloom right now. Not that I would ever have time to make the trek to one of the nearby farms to see it.
The espresso machine was a closing gift from my mother, a kind of elevated real estate agent’s special touch. Of course, she’s the one who managed to find me the rooftop condo in the middle of downtown. As much as I complain about working on the Citadale team, it has paid for a two-bedroom, two-bath, with luxury fixtures and a gym — not that Ievergo to the gym — in the heart of San Francisco.
“Yeah,” Vanessa snorts, pulling me out of my coffee-induced thoughts. “I was up lateplayingwith the guys. Notworking.”
She saysplaying with the guyslike some people might saytaking vitaminsorpaying taxes. A vital, fundamental act required for living. And, according to her, I’m extremely deficient.
“I told you, this influencer thing is killing me,” I say, putting the phone on speaker and quickly pulling on the outfit. “There’s just not enough time right now for?—”
“There’s always something killing you!”
“But this isactuallykilling me,” I whine, before launching into a fully detailed account of how hard it’s been to work with the influencers on this campaign, while I brush my hair.
Right out of college, I started an internship with Gaia Gaming, one of the top gaming companies in the country, if not in the entire world. One of their most popular games, andalsoone of the most popular in the world, is Citadale, an online multiplayer game that combines first-person shooting, building, and dancing.
Two years after getting a full-time position with Gaia, a fluke landed me on the development team for Citadale. While notexactly myfavoritegame to play, there was no doubt that being on the Citadale team would be a benefit to my career.
So, I put my head down and worked as hard as I could; late nights at the office, skipped parties and happy hours — I gave up a lot of my free time that I usually spent on gaming and hanging out with my friends.
And it was worth it. Just over two years ago, I was promoted to the Citadale teamdirector. I’m the youngest game director in the company. But that means I need to be the best, too, because if I let a single weakness show, there are plenty of older, more experienced game developers and designers who would love to take my place.
It also means that I’m in charge of all the major projects. Like this one, right now, where we’re rolling out a new character update featuring the world’s biggest and most popular gaming influencers.
We brought them into the office last week to do full-body scans of them, as per the many, many contracts they signed. But now, half of them are demanding we make a million modifications to their avatars. Apparently, gamers don’t realize that sitting down all day doesn’t exactly make you buff.
“… but seriously? Why would we need to give GamerBoy77 a six-pack?” I ask around my toothbrush, gratified by the fact that Vanessa is laughing on the other end of the phone. “It’s so stupid!”
“Okay,” she says, a moment later, after recovering from her laughter. “Okay. Obviously, Ilovehearing the dirt from the Cita-squad, but I’m still firmly in the camp that you havedone your time. If they’re not going to give you that promotion, then youshould stop grinding so hard. Your talents are wasted wrangling influencers and trying to make teenagers happy.”
“Citadale has awide rangeof players, not just?—”
Vanessa barks out a laugh. “Can it! Oh myGod, you’re like a trained dog, Lacey!”
Laughing with her feels good, and reminds me of gaming with our friends, laughing so hard through our headsets that it’s nothing but wheezing and fists pounding on desks. I miss it.
“Oh,shit,” I say, jolting out of the laughter when my phone buzzes again — a reminder that I have to leave in five minutes. I’ve taken way too long getting ready. “I have togo.”
