The darkness of her bedroom eventually gave way to the harsh afternoon sun. Grace pushed through the heavy glass revolving doors of the midtown law firm. The blast of aggressive air conditioning hit her face, stripping away the lingering heat of the Boston autumn.

She wore a faded gray hoodie and washed-out jeans. She stuck out like a sore thumb among the sea of tailored suits and briefcases crossing the marble lobby.

She walked up to the massive reception desk. She gave the receptionist the name of the Vaughan family's private attorney. The woman behind the desk paused, her eyes flickering over Grace's outfit with a thinly veiled layer of judgment.

After securing a temporary visitor badge, Grace turned and walked toward the elevator banks deep in the lobby. The soft squeak of her worn sneakers was swallowed by the sharp clacking of leather oxfords echoing against the high ceilings.

She stood in front of the furthest elevator on the left. She watched the red digital numbers tick down. Her stomach twisted into tight, uncomfortable knots.

Ding.

The silver doors slid open with a smooth, mechanical hiss. The spacious, brightly lit interior of the cab was revealed.

Grace stepped forward with her right foot.

Loud, obnoxious laughter spilled out of the elevator. Grace froze instantly. Her foot hovered over the threshold.

Standing dead center in the cab was Adelbert. He wore a perfectly tailored black trench coat. One hand was shoved casually into his pocket. He was tilting his head, listening to a joke from the blonde guy standing next to him.

His eyes swept lazily toward the open doors. They crashed straight into Grace's.

Grace's heart violently contracted. Her fingers clamped down on the canvas strap of her tote bag. Her knuckles turned bone-white.

For a fraction of a second, a flash of pure shock broke through the ice in Adelbert's eyes. But it was gone before she could even process it, instantly replaced by a wall of absolute, freezing indifference.

Jax followed Adelbert's line of sight. He let out a low, sleazy whistle, his eyes raking up and down Grace's body.

Morgan nudged Adelbert in the chest with his elbow. He lowered his voice, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Is that one of your little freshmen groupies, Del?"

The elevator doors beeped a sharp, aggressive warning, demanding Grace to either step in or step back.

Grace swallowed the lump of glass in her throat. She forced her legs to move. She stepped into the cab and pressed herself into the furthest corner, right next to the button panel.

She reached out with a shaking finger and pressed the button for the 68th floor. The button was already glowing orange. Adelbert was going to the exact same place.

The doors slid shut. The small, enclosed space was instantly suffocated by the sharp, clean scent of Adelbert's cedarwood cologne. It coated her lungs. She couldn't breathe.

Jax took an arrogant step forward. He leaned his forearm against the metal handrail, jutting his chin toward Grace in the corner.

"You go to G University too, sweetheart?"

Grace pressed her lips together so hard they hurt. She kept her eyes glued to the digital numbers ticking upward. She didn't say a word. Her peripheral vision, however, was hopelessly locked onto Adelbert's profile.

She prayed. She prayed to a God she barely believed in that Adelbert would just say they knew each other. Just say they were alumni. Anything.

Adelbert slowly turned his head. He shot Jax a freezing glare. His thin lips parted.

"I don't know her."

His voice was a low, flat rumble. It held zero emotion. He stated it like a geographical fact.

The words hit Grace like a physical backhand across the face. All the blood drained from her cheeks, leaving her skin ice-cold.

Jax shrugged, losing interest immediately. He stepped back and picked up his conversation with Morgan about the weekend football game.

Grace bit down hard on the soft tissue inside her cheek. She bit until she tasted the sharp tang of copper. The physical pain was the only thing keeping the hot tears from spilling over her lower lashes.

The elevator ride lasted sixty agonizing seconds. Finally, the ding echoed through the cab. The doors slid open to the 68th floor.

Adelbert didn't even glance in her direction. He stepped out with his long strides, his frat brothers trailing behind him like loyal dogs.

A rush of cold air swept into the elevator as they left. Grace leaned her back against the freezing metal wall. Every ounce of energy drained from her muscles.

She watched Adelbert's broad shoulders disappear down the long, carpeted hallway of the law firm.

Now she understood the true weight of that word. Done.

She pushed herself off the wall. She straightened her spine. She walked out of the elevator and turned in the exact opposite direction toward her assigned conference room. Her steps were heavier, but infinitely more certain.

Grace walked out of the dark walnut conference room. Her fingers were clamped around a freshly signed copy of the preliminary termination agreement.

She shoved the crumpled papers into her canvas tote bag. She walked down the hallway as fast as her legs could carry her. She just needed to escape this building. It felt like the walls were coated in Adelbert's scent.

She pushed through the revolving doors on the ground floor. The Boston wind whipped her face, carrying the harsh smell of car exhaust. She yanked the zipper of her hoodie all the way up to her chin.

She joined the chaotic flow of pedestrians heading toward the subway station. She squeezed into a packed train car and wrapped her hand around the freezing metal pole.

The train rattled into the dark tunnel. The deafening screech of metal on metal masked the heavy sigh that slipped past her lips. She rested her forehead against the glass door and closed her eyes.

Forty minutes later, Grace shoved her key into the lock of her off-campus apartment.

She pushed the door open. The overpowering, sugary scent of a Starbucks caramel macchiato hit her instantly. Her roommate, Erika, was curled up on the living room sofa, painting her toenails a bright, obnoxious pink.

Erika looked up. She saw the pale, exhausted look on Grace's face. She immediately capped the polish, slid her feet into fluffy slippers, and trotted over. She held out a warm paper cup.

"Honey, you look absolutely awful," Erika said. Her voice dripped with exaggerated sympathy, but a sharp, probing light flickered in her eyes.

Grace took the cup. She forced the corners of her mouth up into a weak smile.

"I'm fine. Just had to deal with some boring paperwork."

Erika looped her arm through Grace's and pulled her toward the sofa. She leaned in close, dropping her voice into a conspiratorial whisper.

"Did Adelbert give you that look again? Was he being a jerk?"

At the sound of his name, Grace's fingers violently contracted. The cardboard cup buckled under her grip. Hot coffee splashed over the plastic lid and burned the back of her hand.

Erika gasped and grabbed a napkin, dabbing at Grace's skin. But her mouth didn't stop moving.

"I'm telling you, Grace. A playboy like him doesn't deserve you anyway. You're too good for his drama."

Grace didn't reply. Her bones ached with exhaustion. She didn't have the energy to navigate Erika's toxic probing. She muttered a quick excuse about a headache, stood up, and walked straight to her bedroom.

She shut the door. She dropped her bag onto the rug and let her body collapse onto the soft mattress. She stared blankly at the white ceiling.

The silence in the room was deafening. It was suffocating. She needed noise. She needed something to drown out the memory of Adelbert's voice in that elevator.

She rolled over and grabbed her MacBook from the nightstand. She flipped it open and clicked the purple Twitch icon sitting on her bookmark bar.

The homepage loaded. A massive banner dominated the screen. It was a stream with over a million active viewers. The title read: Legend - PUBG NA Solo Rank Push.

Grace clicked into the stream. There was no face cam. Just a sleek, black mask logo in the corner of the screen. The audio was filled with the chaotic, deafening sounds of digital gunfire.

Then, a voice came through her speakers.

"Two behind the tree on the left. One by the rock on the right. Don't panic."

It was Legend. His voice was incredibly deep, calm, and laced with a magnetic authority.

The sound of his voice acted like a physical balm on Grace's frayed nerves. Her heart rate slowed down. She pulled the laptop closer, her eyes glued to the crosshairs on the screen.

Legend's character moved through the digital crossfire like a ghost. He snapped his Kar98k sniper rifle up. Bang. Headshot. Bang. Headshot. He cleared the entire battlefield with terrifying, fluid precision.

The golden letters flashed across the screen: Winner Winner Chicken Dinner.

The chat box exploded into a blur of text, thousands of people worshipping the god of the server.

Grace stared at those golden words. A sudden, violent urge clawed at her chest. She wanted that. She wanted to be in a world where she had total control. Where she could pull a trigger and make her problems disappear.

She exited full screen. She opened the Steam application. She typed four letters into the search bar: PUBG.

The price tag read $29.99. She didn't even blink. She linked her credit card and clicked purchase.

The blue download bar started to crawl across the screen. Grace stared at it, a dark, stubborn fire igniting in her eyes.

Outside her door, Erika let out a loud, fake laugh while talking on the phone. Grace grabbed her noise-canceling headphones and clamped them over her ears, completely shutting out the hypocrisy of the real world.

She opened the notes app on her phone and started typing: PUBG beginner guide. Her thumbs flew across the glass.

A sharp chime rang through her headphones. The Steam download was complete.

Grace moved her mouse. She hovered over the bright green PLAY button.

Grace took a deep breath. She pressed her index finger down hard on the left mouse button, clicking the green PLAY button.

A heavy, aggressive bassline blasted through her headphones. The screen went black for a second before the iconic, ruined lobby of PUBG materialized.

She spent ten minutes in the character creator. She made a female avatar with a high ponytail, a basic white t-shirt, and jeans. She typed her ID into the box: Gracie_S.

Without a second thought, she left the mode on Solo and clicked the READY button in the bottom left corner.

The matchmaking took less than three seconds. The screen flashed. She was suddenly standing on a bleak, abandoned island. The area was swarming with dozens of characters running around in ridiculous outfits.

Grace pressed the 'W' key. Her character jogged forward two steps. Suddenly, a black character wearing nothing but underwear sprinted up and punched her avatar right in the back of the head.

Grace jumped in her chair. She panicked and yanked the mouse to the side to turn around. The camera spun violently. A wave of intense 3D nausea hit her stomach.

Before she could recover, the screen cut to the interior of a massive C-130 transport plane. The deafening roar of the engines shook her eardrums. The flight path cut straight across the center of the map.

She watched the number of alive players rapidly dropping. Her palms started to sweat. She mashed the 'F' key and threw herself out of the plane.

Her character plummeted like a brick. The wind screamed in her headset. She dragged her mouse frantically, completely unable to control her trajectory.

Her parachute deployed automatically with a loud snap. She drifted aimlessly over a barren field. She slammed straight into the branches of a massive, dead tree and got stuck.

She pressed 'F' to cut the parachute cords. Her character plummeted fifteen feet, hitting the dirt with a sickening crunch.

The screen instantly turned gray. You died from falling.

Grace froze. She stared at the giant MATCH FINISHED text. She bit her lower lip, clicked her mouse, and hit RESTART.

Game two. She managed to land on the roof of a small shack. She picked up a tiny pistol. The wooden door below her kicked open. A player with a shotgun blasted her through the floorboards. Dead.

Game three. She played it smart. She landed in the middle of nowhere. She was running from the blue zone when a massive Jeep ran her over from behind. Dead.

Game four. She finally found an assault rifle. She hid in a bush, her heart pounding with excitement. The sky turned red. An artillery shell dropped directly on her head. Dead.

Game five. Game six. The constant, brutal deaths piled up. The frustration built in her chest until it felt like a physical weight. She gripped her mouse so tightly the plastic creaked under her fingers.

By game nine, she dropped into a cluster of buildings called Pochinki. Her boots hit the pavement. Before she could even open a door, a cast-iron pan slammed into the back of her head with a loud, ringing CLANG.

Grace ripped the headphones off her head. She slammed them onto the desk. Her chest heaved. Her eyes burned with a hot, humiliating frustration.

She glared at the gray screen. The memory of Adelbert's freezing eyes in the elevator flashed through her mind. A surge of pure, stubborn rage flooded her veins.

"I swallowed my pride in the real world," she whispered to the empty room, her voice shaking with anger. "I am not letting a stupid game beat me."

She snatched the headphones and shoved them back over her ears. She cranked the volume dial up. She slammed her fingers down onto the WASD keys.

This time, she didn't click Solo. Her mouse drifted over to the Squad option. She checked the box for auto-matching.

Maybe if she had teammates, she could survive past the first five minutes. Maybe she could actually pull a trigger.

She clicked READY. The system instantly threw her into a squad. Four names popped up in the bottom left corner of her screen.

She scanned the IDs.

Jax_Teller

Morgan_F

Ø

The loading screen vanished. She was back on the spawn island. Gunfire and footsteps assaulted her ears.

She looked at her three teammates standing in a circle. The little microphone icons next to their names were flashing. They were talking in the in-game voice channel.

Grace took a deep breath. She pressed her thumb against the 'T' key on her keyboard, preparing to speak her first words into the digital void.

The roar of the plane engines drowned everything out. The four of them were launched into the sky. The gears of fate locked into place.