Jorden locked his phone and shoved it deep into his pocket.

He pushed open the heavy glass door of the first-floor conference room.

The room was freezing, the air conditioning blasting from the ceiling vents.

He walked to the center console and plugged his tactical tablet into the cable.

The massive wall-mounted screen flickered on.

It displayed a paused video frame of SG's final loss at the Seoul Invitational.

Exactly ten minutes later, the four players rushed into the room.

They were panting, their chests heaving as they dropped into the leather chairs around the oval table.

Jorden didn't look at them.

He pressed play.

The video started moving at half speed.

Jorden picked up a laser pointer.

A sharp red dot appeared on the screen, resting directly on Jax's character just before it died.

"You broke the cover formation," Jorden said. His voice was completely devoid of emotion.

Jax flinched as if he had been struck.

He dropped his head, his hands twisting together under the table. He didn't dare speak.

Jorden moved the red dot.

It landed on the dark area of the minimap.

"Caleb. Your vision control failed here. You let them flank us."

Caleb pushed his glasses up his nose, his fingers trembling slightly.

"I thought they were rotating to the objective," Caleb argued, his voice tight. "It was a psychological read."

Jorden tapped his tablet.

A dense spreadsheet of win-rate probabilities and pathing algorithms replaced the video.

"Your read was wrong. The math proves it. You gambled and got us killed."

The air in the room felt heavy, almost suffocating.

Even Julian, the team's loudest and most irrepressible player, sat perfectly still, holding his breath. He usually had a quip for every situation, a joke to crack the tension, but under Jorden's frozen glare, his mouth stayed firmly shut. Beside him, Rhys stared fixedly at the table, his fingers nervously adjusting the cuff of his sleeve.

Jorden placed both hands flat on the table and leaned forward.

His broad shoulders blocked out the light from the projector.

"Starting tomorrow, we are on the NA schedule," Jorden announced. "Fourteen hours of practice a day."

A collective, pained groan slipped from the players' throats.

Jorden's eyes snapped to them, silencing the noise instantly.

"NA teams play dirty and fast," Jorden said, his voice sharp. "We will crush them with absolute mechanical superiority."

He turned and slammed his knuckles against the whiteboard, right next to the Aegis Cup logo.

"If we don't win this, you all pack your bags and go back to the academy roster."

The brutal lecture dragged on for two agonizing hours.

The tension only broke when Daisy pushed the glass door open.

She was carrying a tray of iced Americanos.

"Lunch is here," Daisy said, setting the tray down. "They need to eat, Jorden."

Jorden glanced at the heavy Rolex Submariner on his left wrist.

He gave a single, sharp nod.

"Dismissed."

The players shot out of their chairs, practically sprinting out of the room to escape the pressure.

Jorden picked up a plastic cup of iced Americano.

He took a long drink.

The bitter, freezing liquid burned down his throat, soothing his dry vocal cords.

He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window.

Outside, the Seattle rain had started to fall, blurring the glass.

His shoulders dropped a fraction.

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

He opened the Discord chat with Aetheria.

His fingers moved quickly over the glass screen.

"Just pretend to be sick," he typed, channeling Hex's cold, dismissive persona. "Treat the annoying guy like he doesn't exist."

He hit send.

He pictured Aetheria sitting in her room, smiling wickedly at the screen.

A soft warmth bloomed in his chest.

Suddenly, a calendar notification dropped down from the top of his screen.

It was a reminder: Visit the Corbetts.

Jorden groaned, rubbing his thumb hard against his temple.

He closed Discord and opened Google Maps.

He typed in the address Eleanor had sent him.

The app calculated the route. Forty minutes away.

He locked the phone, shoved it back into his pocket, and turned away from the window, heading to the kitchen to force down some food.

Saturday morning.

The Seattle sky was surprisingly clear, the sunlight cutting through the wooden blinds of Jorden's second-floor bedroom.

The light cast sharp, striped shadows across the hardwood floor.

Jorden stepped out of the master bathroom.

His dark hair was dripping wet, the water running down his chest and soaking into the white towel wrapped low around his waist.

He pulled open the heavy doors of his walk-in closet.

He stared at the rows of monochromatic clothing-blacks and grays, mostly sharply tailored athletic jackets, soft solid-color t-shirts, and official team uniforms. It was a wardrobe that perfectly reflected his disciplined, almost militaristic lifestyle.

He grabbed a hanger holding a black SG hoodie, then stopped.

He remembered his mother's screaming voice.

He let go of the hoodie.

He reached further back into the closet and pulled out a soft, navy-blue cashmere sweater.

He grabbed a pair of tailored black slacks.

He dropped the towel, pulled the clothes on, and walked over to the full-length mirror.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back from his forehead.

The man in the mirror didn't look like an esports tyrant.

He looked like an Ivy League graduate.

He grabbed his leather wallet and his car keys off the nightstand.

He walked down the stairs.

The massive house was dead quiet.

The only sound was the hum of the blender in the kitchen.

Daisy was standing at the counter, pouring a thick green vegetable smoothie into a glass.

She looked up, her eyes widening as she took in Jorden's outfit.

She let out a loud, obnoxious wolf-whistle.

"Going on a blind date, boss?" she teased.

Jorden felt a flash of irritation.

He glared at her, his eyes cold.

"I'm executing a political mission for my mother," he said flatly.

Daisy laughed, taking a sip of her terrible green drink.

"Enjoy your day off. Tomorrow at 8 AM, the fourteen-hour hell begins."

Jorden gave a curt nod.

He walked to the entryway, slipped his feet into a pair of pristine white leather sneakers, and pushed the front door open.

The crisp morning air hit his face.

He walked to the garage and pressed the unlock button on his key fob.

The headlights of a sleek, black Audi SUV flashed twice.

Jorden pulled the heavy door open and slid into the driver's seat.

He hit the ignition button.

The engine purred to life.

He typed the Corbett address into the dashboard navigation screen.

He backed out of the driveway and merged onto the highway heading toward downtown Seattle.

Twenty minutes later, the navigation told him to take an exit near a high-end shopping district.

Jorden flicked his turn signal and pulled off the highway.

He parked the Audi in front of a small, vintage-looking French bakery.

He pulled the keys out and stepped onto the sidewalk.

He pushed the bakery door open.

A bell chimed loudly.

The air inside was thick with the smell of melted butter and vanilla.

Jorden walked up to the glass display case.

He stared at the colorful, delicate pastries, feeling completely out of his element.

He remembered the little girl crying in the dirt.

Girls liked chocolate, right?

He pointed a long finger at the glass.

"I'll take the biggest Black Forest cherry cake you have," he told the cashier.

The girl behind the counter smiled and carefully placed the massive cake into a bright pink box.

She tied a shiny silver ribbon around it.

Jorden paid, grabbed the box by the ribbon, and walked out.

He felt ridiculous holding the bright pink box against his dark cashmere sweater.

He opened the passenger door of the Audi and set the box down gently on the leather seat.

He got back behind the wheel and put the car in drive.

The tall glass buildings of the city slowly faded away, replaced by massive oak trees and sprawling suburban lawns.

Jorden's chest felt tight.

He rolled down his window, letting the cold wind whip against his face.

He started rehearsing what he was going to say to Martha.

"In five hundred feet, your destination is on the right," the robotic GPS voice announced.

Jorden pressed his foot against the brake pedal.

Up ahead, a massive black iron gate blocked the road, attached to a stone security booth.

Jorden eased the Audi forward, the tires crunching softly against the pavement.

He stopped the car right next to the electronic keypad on the visitor's lane.

He pressed the button to roll down his window.

He reached his arm out to press the call button, but his finger stopped in mid-air.

The digital screen on the call box read: Enter 4-Digit Resident Code.

Jorden frowned, his eyebrows pulling together.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened his text thread with Eleanor.

She had sent the street address, but no gate code. No phone number for Martha.

He tapped the call button on his mother's contact.

Nothing happened.

He looked at the top right corner of his screen.

No Service.

Jorden let out a sharp hiss of breath through his teeth.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket and pushed his car door open.

He stepped out into the cold wind.

He walked up to the tinted glass of the security booth and knocked his knuckles against it.

He peered inside.

The chair was empty. A half-drank cup of coffee was steaming on the desk.

The guard had gone to the bathroom.

Jorden shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his slacks.

The wind bit at his neck.

He started pacing back and forth in front of the iron gate, his jaw clenched tight in annoyance.

From the other side of the gate, a silver Volvo sedan slowly approached the exit lane.

Arthur Corbett sat behind the wheel, a fresh newspaper resting on his passenger seat.

Arthur tapped his brakes as he neared the gate.

Through his windshield, he saw a tall man wearing a dark cap, pacing aggressively in front of the keypad.

Arthur's grip on the steering wheel tightened. The man looked completely unfamiliar. He was wearing a hat pulled low, pacing aggressively by the gate, clearly trying to figure out a way to get inside. Arthur's neighborhood watch instincts flared to life, his suspicion immediately peaking.

Arthur threw the Volvo into park.

He shoved his door open and marched toward the iron fence.

"Hey!" Arthur barked, his voice echoing in the quiet street. "What do you think you're doing?"

Jorden stopped pacing.

He turned his head and looked through the black iron bars.

He saw an older man with graying hair glaring at him.

Jorden pulled his hands out of his pockets.

He took off his baseball cap, trying to look as non-threatening as possible.

"I'm trying to visit a friend," Jorden said, his voice calm. "I don't have the gate code."

Arthur's eyes narrowed, scanning Jorden's expensive cashmere sweater.

The clothes were nice, but the kid's eyes were cold and sharp.

"What's the name of the resident?" Arthur demanded, crossing his arms. "Give me the house number, or I'm calling the police."

Jorden felt a spike of anger hit his chest.

He forced his face to remain blank, swallowing the sharp retort on his tongue.

"The Corbetts," Jorden said flatly. "Number 42."

Arthur flinched.

His arms dropped to his sides.

"Who are you?" Arthur asked, his voice losing its aggressive edge.

Jorden took a slow, deep breath.

"My name is Jorden Berger. Eleanor's son."

The name hit Arthur like a physical blow.

Arthur's eyes went wide, his mouth dropping open slightly.

He stared at the towering, intimidating man in front of him, trying to connect him to the little kid who used to eat dirt in his backyard.

A heavy, suffocating silence hung in the air for five seconds.

Arthur cleared his throat loudly, his face flushing dark red.

"Jorden! My god, look at you," Arthur stammered, forcing a loud, awkward laugh. "You're so tall, I didn't even recognize you!"

Jorden's jaw ticked.

He forced the corners of his mouth up into a stiff, polite smile.

"It's been a long time, sir."

Arthur practically ran to his car.

He grabbed his key fob and swiped it against the exit scanner.

The heavy iron gates groaned and slowly swung open.

"Follow me in!" Arthur yelled, waving his arm frantically.

Jorden nodded.

He walked back to his Audi, his muscles tight with lingering irritation.

He dropped into the driver's seat and let out a long, heavy exhale.

He put the car in drive and followed the silver Volvo into the neighborhood, praying the rest of the visit wouldn't be this painful.