Kaitlynn threw the comforter off her legs.

Her bare feet hit the cold carpet.

She marched across the room and grabbed the brass doorknob, yanking the door open.

Her mother, Martha, stood in the hallway.

She was wearing a floral apron, her right hand gripping a spatula covered in white flour.

"You stayed up playing that stupid game again, didn't you?" Martha snapped, her eyes narrowing. "You've wasted the entire morning."

Kaitlynn looked away, staring at a spot on the hallway wallpaper.

She chewed on the inside of her lower lip.

"I was finishing a group project." she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

Martha let out a harsh scoff.

She turned around, her slippers slapping against the hardwood floor as she headed for the stairs.

"Ten minutes. Downstairs for brunch. Don't make me come back up here. And we have a lot to do this afternoon—the guest room needs to be cleaned out."

Kaitlynn blew out a heavy breath.

She walked into her attached bathroom and turned on the faucet.

She splashed freezing water onto her face, the shock making her gasp.

She grabbed a towel, dried her skin roughly, and pulled a massive, faded UCLA hoodie over her head.

She slipped on a pair of gym shorts and shoved her feet into her slides.

She dragged herself down the wooden staircase.

The smell of frying bacon and bitter coffee hit her nose before she even reached the bottom step.

Her father, Arthur, was sitting at the kitchen island.

He was staring at his iPad, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.

Kaitlynn pulled out a tall metal stool and sat down.

She reached across the marble counter, grabbed a piece of burnt toast, and took a massive bite.

Martha walked over and slammed a plate of scrambled eggs onto the counter in front of Kaitlynn.

"We are having a very important guest this weekend," Martha announced, her tone leaving no room for debate.

Kaitlynn chewed the dry toast, swallowing hard.

"Who?" she asked. "Is the HOA coming to fine us for the grass again?"

Martha glared at her.

"Aunt Eleanor's son. Jorden. He's coming to Seattle to stay for a while."

Kaitlynn froze.

Her brain scrambled, digging through years of buried memories.

An image of a seven-year-old boy with mud smeared across his cheeks and a missing front tooth flashed in her mind.

She curled her upper lip in disgust.

"Why is he coming here?" she asked, her voice tight. "Is he going to steal my Legos again?"

Arthur lowered his iPad.

"Jorden is a professional esports player now," Arthur said, his voice calm. "He just flew back from a tournament in Korea."

Kaitlynn's hand stopped halfway to her mouth.

The word 'esports' made the muscles in her neck tighten.

"I don't understand how playing video games is a real job," Martha complained, wiping down the stove. "And they pay him for it."

Kaitlynn slammed her toast down on the plate.

"Esports is a real athletic competition, Mom," she argued, her voice rising. "It takes insane reflexes and talent."

Hex's impossible shield-block from last night flashed behind her eyes.

That was a real god.

Martha tapped the spatula against the counter, a sharp, warning sound.

"I don't care what it is. You will be polite to him this weekend. No attitude. And I need you to clean out the guest room this afternoon. Change the sheets. Put out fresh towels."

Kaitlynn rolled her eyes, her shoulders slumping.

A guy who ate mud was probably sitting on the bench of some amateur, second-rate team.

"What team does he even play for?" Kaitlynn asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Arthur pushed his glasses up his nose and looked at the Wikipedia page on his screen.

"He is the captain of... SG."

Kaitlynn's breath caught in her throat.

Her stomach tightened. "SG? The massive esports org?" she blurted out, her gamer instincts overriding her annoyance for a split second. "Don't they only play games like Valorant and League of Legends?" Even if they didn't play her game, she knew the name.

SG. The biggest, wealthiest esports organization in North America.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing her face to remain blank.

It didn't matter. Even if he was the captain of SG, he was nothing compared to Hex.

Kaitlynn groaned, dropping her head onto her arms on the counter. "Fine, fine," she muttered. "But he better not steal my stuff like he used to."

She shoved the rest of the toast into her mouth, grabbed her coffee mug, and slid off the stool.

She practically ran out of the kitchen, her slides smacking against the stairs.

She slammed her bedroom door shut.

She threw herself face-first onto her mattress.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket, her thumbs flying across the screen as she opened Discord.

She opened Hex's chat, ready to complain about the absolute nightmare that was about to ruin her life. Some annoying guy from her childhood was showing up this weekend, and she was stuck cleaning out the guest room.

The automatic glass doors of the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport slid open.

Jorden pushed his heavy luggage cart into the chaotic arrival hall.

He was suffocating inside a black windbreaker, a black baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, and a black surgical mask covering his face.

He kept his head down, his long legs eating up the distance across the linoleum floor.

Despite the layers, his six-foot-three frame stood out like a beacon.

A girl standing near the baggage claim narrowed her eyes. Jorden reached up to adjust the collar of his windbreaker, briefly pulling down his black surgical mask to take a breath of the stuffy airport air. The sharp angle of his jawline and his distinct, cold eyes were exposed for just a fraction of a second. The girl gasped, her eyes widening in disbelief as she recognized the profile from countless championship streams. Then, her gaze dropped and locked onto the custom silver SG logo embroidered on his backpack strap, confirming her wild suspicion.

She let out a piercing, high-pitched scream.

The sound ripped through the hall.

Dozens of people turned their heads.

A mob of teenage girls holding neon signs suddenly surged forward, their sneakers squeaking against the floor.

Four airport security guards sprinted past Jorden.

They threw their arms out, forming a human barricade to hold back the crushing weight of the fans.

Jorden's jaw tightened.

He didn't break his stride.

He turned his shoulder, angling his body toward the VIP exit corridor.

Camera flashes exploded in his peripheral vision, the bright white lights stabbing at his tired eyes.

People were screaming his game ID, the sound bouncing off the high ceilings and drilling into his skull.

He pushed through the heavy fire doors, shoving them open with his shoulder.

He stepped out onto the curb.

The cold, damp Seattle wind hit his face, carrying the smell of rain and exhaust fumes.

The chill helped clear the heavy fog of jetlag in his brain.

A black Mercedes sprinter van was idling by the curb.

Daisy, the team manager, slid the side door open and waved her arm frantically.

Jorden shoved his cart forward.

He grabbed his massive suitcase by the handle, his biceps flexing as he hurled it into the trunk.

He climbed into the back of the van, his long legs cramping as he dropped into the leather captain's chair.

Daisy slammed the door shut.

The heavy thud cut off the screaming fans instantly.

The van smelled like expensive leather and air freshener.

Jorden ripped the mask off his face.

He let out a long, ragged exhale, letting his head fall back against the headrest.

He closed his eyes, the muscles in his neck screaming in protest.

Daisy reached over and pressed a cold bottle of Evian water against his arm.

"Your popularity is worse than a Hollywood actor's," she joked.

Jorden didn't smile.

He took the bottle, twisted the cap off, and downed half of it in three massive gulps.

His Adam's apple bobbed sharply against his throat.

A violent vibration against his thigh made him flinch.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his personal iPhone.

The screen lit up with the caller ID: Eleanor.

His mother.

Jorden pressed his thumb against his temple, a dull headache starting to throb behind his eyes.

He swiped the screen and brought the phone to his ear.

"Mom," he said, his voice raspy from sleep deprivation.

"Are you on the ground?" Eleanor demanded, her voice sharp and loud.

"Yes."

"Good. You are going to the Corbett house this weekend. No excuses."

Jorden squeezed his eyes shut.

"Mom, the team just moved back to the States. We have to set up the entire base."

"I don't care about your video games," Eleanor snapped. "Martha took care of you when you were little. You owe them a visit."

Jorden's grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles turned white.

He knew he couldn't win this argument.

"Fine," he muttered. "I'll go buy a gift and spend half a day there."

"And dress nicely! Don't look like a homeless person!"

Eleanor hung up.

Jorden tossed the phone onto the empty seat next to him.

He turned his head, staring blankly out the tinted window at the dark green pine trees blurring past.

The name Corbett echoed in his head.

A memory surfaced: a little girl with pigtails, always crying, always following him around the yard.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward in a faint, tired smile.

He wondered what the crybaby looked like now.

Suddenly, a second phone-a dedicated black Android device he used strictly for his gaming affairs-buzzed inside his inner jacket pocket.

He pulled it out.

The screen lit up with a Discord notification.

It was a priority message from Aetheria.

Jorden's eyes darkened, the exhaustion bleeding out of his gaze as he stared at her name.

Jorden unlocked the screen, his thumb hovering over the Discord icon.

Before he could tap it, the Mercedes van slammed on its brakes.

Jorden's chest jerked forward against the seatbelt.

The phone slipped from his grip, sliding off his thigh and dropping into the dark gap between the seats.

Jorden let out a frustrated breath.

He bent over, his ribs pressing against his knees, trying to wedge his hand into the tight space.

"Sorry, boss," the driver called out from the front. "We're here. The new Bellevue base."

Jorden stopped reaching. He let out a sharp breath of frustration.

He shifted in his seat, turning his body sideways. He wedged his hand into the narrow gap between the seat and the door frame, his knuckles scraping against the metal bracket. The tips of his fingers brushed against the edge of the phone case. He pinched it and pulled it free.

He held the device up, checking the screen—no cracks. He clicked the side button; the screen lit up. Still functional.

He shoved the backup phone deep into his jacket pocket.

Then, he glanced at the empty seat beside him. His personal iPhone was still lying there where he had tossed it earlier. He picked it up, clicked it into his other pocket.

He sat up, unbuckled his seatbelt, and shoved the van door open. He stepped out onto the wet driveway.

A massive, ultra-modern mansion loomed in front of him.

The exterior walls were made almost entirely of floor-to-ceiling glass, reflecting the gray, overcast sky.

The team bus pulled up right behind the van.

The air brakes hissed loudly.

The five starting players of SG spilled out of the bus, their voices loud and chaotic.

Jax, the youngest player, let out a loud whistle.

Behind him, Julian and Rhys tumbled out, still mid-argument about something that had started on the plane. Julian, broad-shouldered and perpetually grinning, was insisting his solo-queue win-rate had finally overtaken Rhys's. Rhys, quieter and sharper, adjusted his glasses and muttered a dry rebuttal that made Julian laugh even louder.

"Holy shit," Jax yelled, spinning in a slow circle to take it all in. "This is way better than that basement we had in Seoul!"

Caleb, the vice-captain, adjusted his glasses.

"The rent for this place could buy our old organization." Caleb said, his voice flat.

Daisy clapped her hands together, the sound sharp and authoritative.

"Stop staring and grab your gear! Get your peripherals inside!"

Jorden ignored the noise.

He walked straight up the concrete path to the massive wooden double doors.

He punched the security code Daisy had texted him into the digital keypad.

The lock beeped, and the heavy door clicked open.

Jorden pushed it wide.

The entire first floor had been gutted and transformed into a state-of-the-art training facility.

Five custom-built PC towers sat on a massive, curved desk, their internal RGB lights pulsing in a slow, breathing pattern.

Jorden walked straight to the center seat.

He pulled out the ergonomic chair and sat down.

He grabbed the mouse.

He dragged it across the massive mousepad, feeling the friction, testing the weight of the shell against his palm.

He reached forward and pressed the power button on the tower.

The monitor flared to life.

He opened the command prompt, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he typed a ping test command to the North American servers.

The numbers popped up.

Single digits. Perfect stability.

The tight muscles in Jorden's jaw finally relaxed a fraction.

The rest of the team flooded into the room, dropping heavy bags onto the hardwood floor.

They immediately started arguing over who got the master bedroom upstairs.

Daisy walked over to Jorden, holding a stack of printed papers.

She dropped a schedule on his desk.

"Logistics and meal prep times," she said.

Jorden scanned the paper, his eyes darting across the columns.

He tapped his index finger against the edge of the desk.

"Move the dinner delivery back an hour. It interrupts the evening scrim block," he ordered.

Daisy scribbled a note with a red pen.

"What about PR? We need a campaign for our return to NA."

Jorden's eyes went cold.

"No PR," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "We win the Aegis Cup next month. That's the only PR we need."

He pushed his chair back.

The wheels scraped loudly against the floor.

He stood up, his height towering over the desk.

He slammed his open palm against the wood.

The loud crack echoed through the massive room.

Every single player froze. The arguing stopped instantly.

Jorden stared them down, his gaze heavy and oppressive.

"Ten minutes. Tactical meeting in the conference room. Don't be late."

The players swallowed hard, the fear evident in their wide eyes.

They scrambled toward the stairs, grabbing their bags and sprinting up to claim their rooms.

Jorden stood alone in the quiet room.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his backup phone.

He opened Discord.

Aetheria had sent a massive wall of text.

She was furiously complaining about her mother forcing her to clean the guest room for some arrogant, annoying guy she hated from her childhood.

Jorden stared at the screen.

A low, genuine laugh rumbled in his chest.

He tapped the screen, bringing up the keyboard, ready to reply to his angry little student.