Quinn slid across the greasy floor and dove behind an overturned dining table just as a platter of fruit exploded against the wall above her.

  “Little help here!” she shouted, ducking as grapes rained down on her.

  “I am fairly certain that defeating bosses requires fighting them,” Silas said dryly in her ear. “But I could be mistaken, of course.”

  “Ooooh,” Sophie cooed, her voice bright with delight, “I like his hat! Can you steal his hat?”

  A chair sailed across the hall and shattered against the table with a violent crash, wooden shards ricocheting in every direction.

  “Sure,” Quinn said, frantically searching for something to throw back. “If I don’t get flattened by his royal club first—or whatever the fuck that thing’s supposed to be.”

  “Doest thou dare insult mine Royal Artifact!” thundered a voice from across the room. “Insolent wench! Kneel before the illustrious Duke of Greencastle!”

  Quinn peeked over the table. At the far end of the banquet hall stood an extremely pissed off goblin, his bulbous belly wobbling like a bowl of jelly as he howled. Perched on his head was a powdered wig and plumed hat, its enormous feather whipping into his face. A velvet cape hung from his shoulders, rippling as he brandished his so-called Royal Artifact, which looked suspiciously like a broken bedpost.

  “How darest thou!” bellowed the Duke, pointing his stick at her as he hoisted up a roast turkey and cocked his arm back.

  “Oh shit!” Quinn rolled aside just as the turkey exploded right where she’d been. Hot fat rained down on her, splattering across the floor. She skidded, grabbing a silver serving tray as she slid beneath another table. Grease dripped off her hair into her eyes. She wiped it away with the back of her sleeve, yanking a throwing knife from her belt.

  “You know, you’re the fattest fuck I’ve ever seen in my life,” she taunted from under the table. “You look like an inflatable cabbage.”

  “Blasphemy!” roared the Duke as Sophie and Silas burst into peals of laughter. “My girth is of noble ancestry! How darest thou liken me to a cabbage, you—”

  Quinn shot out from cover and snapped her wrist, sending the knife whistling across the hall. It struck the Duke square in the chest, then clattered to the floor. His health bar didn’t so much as flicker.

  The goblin puffed out his chest, a few vest buttons flying loose. “Thy peasant cutlery cannot mar my noble flesh!” He snatched a flagon of wine and hurled it at her.

  Quinn seized the serving tray and swung with all her strength just as the wine was about to smash into her. It collided with an almighty CLANG, sending the flagon careening through the air. Wine splattered across the room as it burst against a wall.

  She swore under her breath and pulled out Bertha’s Bacon Stick, her favorite weapon. Kissing the shaft, she vaulted into the air and hurled it straight at the goblin’s head. The spear struck with a solid thud, knocking him back half a step, his eyes wide. For a split second, Quinn thought it was over.

  Then the Duke touched the shallow scratch on his forehead and burst into raucous laughter, spitting out the enormous hat feather as it flopped into his mouth. His health bar had barely moved.

  “Thy crude weapon tickleth me!” he wheezed, clutching his bedpost for support as he doubled over in hysterics.

  Quinn pulled a round metal canister with a ragged fuse from her inventory. It was one of her own nasty little inventions, a grenade packed with rusty nails. “Laugh it up, cabbage-man!” she shouted, yanking the pin and chucking it across the hall before diving under the table.

  BOOM!

  The explosion rocked the banquet hall, rattling plates and sending wine-stained paintings crashing from the walls. Quinn threw her hands over her head as dust rained down, her ears ringing. Disoriented, she clawed out from beneath the table and blinked through the haze.

  The Duke stood exactly where he had been, completely unharmed. A few nails were stuck in his cape, clinking together as he shook them loose with disdain.

  “A fine show, wench!” he sneered, stepping over the debris towards her. “Thou wouldst make an excellent jester.”

  Quinn’s stomach sank. “Oh, come on!”

  “You seem stuck,” Silas said in her ear, clearly entertained. “Every enemy has a weakness. You just have to figure it out.”

  “Fucking of course,” she muttered as the Duke resumed pelting her with food. A plate of carrots smashed against the table, spraying orange mush across her face.

  She spat out a chunk. “Did you get homeschooled by a penguin or something?” she shouted. “Only fifth graders throw food.”

  The goblin puffed up to his full, inconsiderable height. “I will have thee know I attended the Royal Academy of Nobility, the finest institution!” he declared.

  Quinn ducked back under the table, heart racing. All her weapons were useless. Even her nail bomb hadn’t done a thing. There must be something she was missing…she scanned the room again. The Duke continuing to rant, flourishing that absurd bedpost like it was Excalibur.

  “Of course,” she breathed.

  He paced, his voice rising as he monologued. “And naturally, we studied embroidery! A fine art, more than mere women’s work, I assure—”

  Quinn lunged, making a wild grab for the weapon. He howled and smacked her across the face with it, sending her crashing into a table. Her health bar plummeted, blinking red.

  “The Royal Artifact is reserved for nobility, thieving wench!” he thundered, veins bulging in his squat green neck.

  Quinn yanked a potion from her hot bar, ripped the cap off and downed it in one gulp. Her health shot back up instantly.

  Shrieking, the Duke barreled at her, bedpost raised high as he prepared to crush her skull. Quinn reared back and drove her boot squarely into his stomach. He doubled over with a wheeze, dropping the weapon in shock.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  She seized it before it hit the ground, swung it around, and plunged the jagged end straight through his chest.

  This time, the Duke didn’t laugh. His eyes bulged as his body convulsed. With a final, pitiful cry, he toppled forward, hitting the floor with a loud THUMP.

  Breathing hard, Quinn straightened and let the Royal Artifact clatter to the ground. Around her, the banquet hall stilled. It was oddly quiet without the Duke’s endless prattle.

  “God, you’d think he’d never shut up,” she muttered, smoothing back her greasy hair.

  She scanned the dais in the corner of the room and spotted what she’d come for: a small iron lockbox resting on the throne. Striding over, she scooped it up.

  “Told you’d I’d specialize in looting nobility,” she said cheerfully, pocketing the little box. Then she paused, a wicked grin spreading across her face. Walking back to the Duke’s corpse, she snatched the ridiculous plumed hat off his wig and jammed it onto her head, taking a deep bow while Sophie cheered in her ear.

  She was bouncing up and down in her chair beside the computer desk when Quinn pulled the visor off, squealing with delight. “You got it! And you got the hat!”

  Quinn ruffled her hair affectionately. “Anything for you, kiddo.”

  After dinner, Quinn tucked Sophie and her stuffed bunny into bed and slipped out the sliding back door with a cup of tea. She sat on the porch steps with her hands wrapped around the mug, watching steam curl into the cool night air. Twinkle lights were strung up around the awing, their glow warm and golden. It was altogether the most peaceful moment she’d had in a while.

  Training had claimed nearly every hour of her week, leaving her drained but more confident about what came next. Tomorrow morning, she and Sophie would be picked up by a Veyra transport and taken to a regional center for the first phase of the game. Quinn would stay in the dorms while Sophie would be sent to the care wing.

  Whenever they talked about leaving, Sophie would tear up and cling to her like she was industrial-grade glue. Quinn hated the idea of causing her more pain but knew there she couldn’t avoid being separated for a while. Sophie was tough, she would be ok. She had to.

  Quinn pulled a framed photograph from her hoodie pocket and traced the edge of the glass with her thumb, lost in thought. The screen door slid open behind her and clicked shut. Gravel crunched as Silas wheeled up beside her. Quinn sipped her tea as they sat in silence, listening to the crickets chirping.

  “Dolores is going to be insufferable,” he said at last.

  Quinn snorted. “Yeah, you’ll probably have to buy her a pet hamster or something.”

  He laughed. “Are you sure it’s ok if you are out here? They’re still looking for you for attacking that officer.”

  “I don’t see any drones,” Quinn said, peering up at the sky from around the awning. “Even if there was one, I’m property of Veyra now, right? They couldn’t arrest me until after I competed in Eterna.”

  “That’s true. Nothing buys immunity like corporate money.”

  They chuckled and lapsed back into brooding silence. A muffled siren wailed in the distance, quickly swallowed by the cool night air.

  “Want to talk about it?” Silas asked.

  “Not really,” she said, looking at the twinkle lights. One of the bulbs kept flickering.

  “I figured. But there’s something I need to say that you won’t want to hear.”

  “Oh?” she said mildly. “Do tell.”

  “When you’re there…in the game I mean, there will be lots of people you can’t trust, but there will also be a few you must trust,” Silas coughed uncertainly. “Look, you need to promise me you’ll make friends.”

  Quinn scoffed. “Friends? Yeah, I’d rather snort salt, thanks.”

  “I’m sure life will afford you the opportunity,” he said dryly. “Let me know how that goes, will you? I could use a good laugh.”

  “Trusting people has only ever hurt me,” she retorted angrily. “Why would I do that when I have more to lose now?”

  “You trust me, don’t you? Listen, I’m not saying you should go around cozying up to everyone you meet. That’s a great way to get yourself killed. I’m saying that at some point you’ll have a choice—to work with someone else or continue alone. And I’m asking you to promise me that you will pick working with someone else. Because there is no way, no matter what you say, that you make it out alone. I know that isn’t easy for you, but you have to promise me you will try.”

  Quinn saw he was serious and wouldn’t give up without her promise. She supposed he had a point. At the very least, she hoped he was wrong and she wouldn’t be faced with that decision.

  “Fine,” she snapped. “I promise I will try. Alright?”

  He nodded, looking relieved. “Ok. But that’s not all. You also need to stop insulting everything that moves. Survival in a game like Eterna is as much about people skills as it is about—well, surviving.”

  “Seriously? Hells, ok! I promise to be a perfect little lady that makes everyone around her feel comfortable and safe. Happy?”

  He looked at her with a stony expression. “Sure. But I’d pay good money to see you be a lady.” The corners of Quinn’s mouth twitched.

  They lapsed into moody silence again. Quinn didn’t want to think about Eterna and just wanted to enjoy her last evening here, soaking up the remains of what had been a warm and memorable week.

  “I just want you to know that…it’s been nice. Having you here, I mean,” Silas said quietly, apparently thinking the same thing. “Even though now I need to paint my walls. Turns out children and permanent markers don’t mix.”

  Quinn grinned. “Honestly, she was doing you a favor. That wallpaper is hideous beyond all reason.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” he said. “What I’m trying to say is…that it was different, with you here. And if you take that away from me and don’t come back, I won’t forgive you.”

  A frog croaked from somewhere in the dark. Quinn glanced over and saw him looking down at her, the twinkle lights reflecting off his glasses. Shadows carved lines across his face, making him look far older and worn than he was.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to forgive me, Silas,” she said softly. “I wouldn’t forgive myself, either. I mean…how could the world go on without all my emo angst?”

  “Yes, a devastating cultural loss,” he replied, smiling sadly.

  Quinn tugged at her hoodie strings, staring past the fence into the dark. “This last week has been different for us too. You never saw our place…I mean, it was real bougie, way classier than your place—much offense. But you just can’t replace over-protective, insufferable robots, you know?”

  “Yeah, I’ll definitely have to get her a hamster,” he said, chuckling.

  Quinn laughed and sipped her tea, the sounds of crickets filling the cool night air.

  “Remember when we first met?” she asked after a while. “I was trying to find a job in that online forum.”

  “Bit hard to forget.”

  “I don’t think I ever said thank you,” she said quietly, tracing the rim of her teacup with her finger. “For what you did.”

  “Fuck that creep,” Silas said angrily. “Anyone would’ve done the same, you don’t have to thank me.”

  “But they didn’t. Only you did. I didn’t know what to do, how to protect myself. I was only thirteen. If it hadn’t been for you chasing that guy away, I don’t know what would’ve happened to me,” Quinn shivered. “So thank you.”

  Silas didn’t respond for a long time. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Well…when my parents died, you were the only one to put up with me. So, don’t worry about it. It’s just what we do.”

  “Yeah, I know it is,” she said quietly, fingering the edge of the framed photograph in her lap. The light caught against the glass. “It’s been making me think a lot about family. What that means, you know. The world would say my parents are my family, but they weren’t. Not to me. They were shitty people that did everything they could to be shittier the next day.”

  Turning, she handed the photograph to Silas. He took it and looked down at it. It was a picture of him, Dolores, Quinn and Sophie crammed together in the kitchen, grinning like idiots. Sophie’s face was mid-laugh, cookie crumbs at the corner of her mouth.

  “I uh…found a frame.” Quinn said, coughing lightly. “Figured your other pictures kinda sucked. Thought maybe you should start replacing them.”

  Silas’s fingers tightened around the frame. His mouth opened, then closed again. He gave a sharp little nod, staring down at the photograph.

  “Biology has nothing to do with family, Silas,” Quinn said quietly, standing. “Don’t ever forget that.”

  She noiselessly slipped back inside, leaving him alone on the porch. The chirping of crickets filled the still night air. After a long moment, Silas ran his sleeve across his face and turned toward the door, the photograph clutched against his chest.