Chapter 3

  Lunch break arrived.

  Jen, forgoing her usual place at the “adult” end of the breakroom, didn’t join the older workers who sat chatting about bills and their children. Instead, she carried her salad over to the table where the part-timers sat—the young ones, mostly still in school or recently graduated, surrounded by junk food, loud laughter, and half-finished energy drinks.

  As she approached, their voices lowered.

  She smiled, unfazed, and sat down—her eyes immediately settling on Ben, the young man she’d come to find.

  He was blond, early twenties if she had to guess, cute in a soft, slightly rounded way. He wore a patchy beard that didn’t quite connect, and it made her grin quietly to herself—it looked more like a teenage rebellion than a grown-up look. But she remembered this face well. Ben had been one of the few who’d left an impression the first time around.

  He felt her eyes on him and blushed, turning beet red. The boys sitting near him snuck glances—one shot him a jealous look, another gave him a subtle thumbs-up.

  Jen ignored it all and took a bite of her salad, chewing thoughtfully, letting the silence stretch.

  Finally, as if he’d gathered enough courage, Ben cleared his throat.

  “What’s up, Miss Stevens?”

  Jen’s smile widened. She tilted her head.

  “It’s Dawson now, actually.”

  She wrinkled her nose slightly, remembering that in this timeline she was only recently divorced from Peter. The loss of Willow had been too much to recover from. And Peter’s reckless driving—the very thing that led to the crash—had poisoned what little was left of their marriage.

  She shook her head.

  Even now, she didn’t want to waste time thinking about him.

  “I wanted to ask,” she continued casually, “if you’ve heard of Continents of Thirian?”

  She saw Ben freeze slightly, his posture straightening. He hadn’t expected that.

  He wasn’t the only one. The other part-timers stared at her like she’d grown a second head. Their store manager was talking about Thirian?

  Ben relaxed visibly, his expression brightening.

  “Oh yeah, we’re all pumped for the release. Scrambling to secure headsets, though—the price is a shit ton.”

  Jen nodded.

  “Yeah, I hear that.” She gave a brief smile. “Are you guys entering the game as independents? Or through a workshop?”

  At that, a few mouths fell open. Her vocabulary—the way she said workshop—caught their attention. She wasn’t just vaguely aware of the game. She knew things.

  Ben beamed.

  “Kind of both, actually. We’re forming our own workshop—but it’s self-funded. No corporate backers. Everyone’s pooling wages to cover the setup. That way, once we take off, we’re not bound to some scummy exec with a leash on our contracts.”

  Jen nodded slowly. She could see it in his face—he’d had a bad experience with backers before.

  A girl sitting next to Ben—Stacy, if Jen remembered correctly—chimed in.

  “Yeah, our last VR game had a backer, but the contracts were crap. Legal trapdoors everywhere. We got lucky that company went under with the rise of Thirian, or we’d still be stuck slaving for them.”

  “So this time,” Ben added firmly, “we’re doing it on our terms. Full control.”

  Jen’s smile deepened.

  She looked around the table at the group of young workers. She didn’t remember most of them. The turnover rate had always been high—part-timers passing through for a summer or two before moving on to college or something better. But Ben had stuck around long enough to leave a mark in her past life, and his loyalty had proven gold.

  “So,” she asked, gesturing toward Ben, “are you all part of this?”

  A few heads nodded—Stacy, another boy with dark curls. The rest shook their heads.

  “Paying thousands for a game setup isn’t really our thing,” one said with a shrug. “We’re just here for the gossip and the cheap vending machine snacks.”

  Laughter rippled around the table again, a little more relaxed this time.

  Jen smiled to herself.

  Good. This was going to be easier than she thought.

  Jen had arranged to visit Ben’s workshop that weekend. She could still recall the young man’s confused face when she’d asked to book a time to talk business. It had made her smile—how shocked they all were by her interest in games.

  Little did they know.

  In a few months, Thirian would appeal to everyone. Even the elderly.

  After work, Jen picked Josh up from school and dropped him off at the rehab center. He still had a long road ahead—weeks, maybe months—to regain whatever small amount of function he could. She could already see he was trying, even when it felt hopeless.

  Then, alone in the car, Jen pulled up her banking app and checked her savings. $15,000.

  Not nearly enough.

  Selling the Saab was out of the question. With Josh’s wheelchair, they needed the space and the accessibility. She sighed.

  That left selling the house.

  In her last life, she’d clung to it—unwilling to leave the place that had once been Willow’s home. The memories were too strong, the grief too present. But this time, she couldn’t afford to be sentimental.

  If she was going to make this work, she had to let it go.

  Jen moved fast. She contacted a realtor the same day and arranged to list the home immediately. Given the neighborhood and her current mortgage, they estimated the sale would land her just under $50,000 in profit.

  Not a fortune. But enough.

  The realtor told her that if she waited a few months, he could likely find a higher-paying buyer—maybe $80,000 to $90,000. But Jen didn’t have the time. She couldn’t wait for someone to fall in love with the hardwood floors or the neighborhood’s school district.

  She needed a buyer now.

  A quick sale would do.

  With the house listing underway and the funding nearly secured, she checked off the mental list she’d been building—and arrived at a step she dreaded.

  She picked up her phone and dialed Peter.

  He answered on the second ring, breathless, like he hadn’t expected the call.

  “Hi,” he said, tentative. Almost unsure.

  Jen took a long breath.

  “I need you to take Josh,” she said. “For the last month of school—and all summer.”

  Peter was silent for a moment. Then, cautiously:

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “I mean... that’s fine. But why? Is something wrong?”

  “No,” Jen said quickly. “We’re fine. I’m looking to move. I can’t stay in this house anymore.”

  She coughed, trying not to let Willow’s name even form in her mind. Talking about her with him always reopened the wound. There was too much pain. Too much blame.

  She could hear Peter swallow on the other end of the line.

  “I get that,” he said quietly. “Do you... need help finding a new place?”

  “No,” she cut in sharply. “Just take Josh.”

  A pause. Then:

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  Without another word, Jen hung up.

  She got to work immediately, boxing up the things she planned to keep and sorting the rest for donation or sale. She’d already reserved a storage unit across town—just big enough to hold what mattered.

  Josh’s and Willow’s baby things.

  That was it, really.

  The rest could go.

  For now, she’d stay in a cheap motel while she got the guild up and running and started bringing in coin. Once she was stable—once she could see the future clearly—she’d find a small apartment and bring Josh home.

  The days that followed were hectic—paperwork, packing, realtor updates, and restless nights. But eventually, Friday rolled around.

  Dropping Josh off that morning, she gave him a resigned smile.

  “You’ll be fine,” she repeated, trying to keep her voice light.

  But he didn’t look at her.

  He hated this. Hated staying with his dad—a man he hadn’t forgiven. Hated the house being sold, the last link to Willow disappearing. Hated the feeling of being uprooted.

  No Willow. No Mom. No legs.

  It was too much.

  He’d cried when she told him—really cried. Begged her not to change everything. Pleaded for things to stay, just one thing, anything.

  But Jen had held to the plan.

  She’d reassured him:

  “Willow’s memory is with us. Not bound to a house. And your father is still your father, Josh. Time with him might help. He didn’t mean for the accident to happen. He lost her too.”

  She wasn’t sure if he heard her. Or believed her.

  She just hoped that next week, when the neural headset she’d bought him arrived, it might ease the pain.

  A gift to help him walk again—even if only virtually.

  Maybe then, he’d understand why she’d made these choices.

  She waited until the school doors shut behind him.

  Then she drove to work.

  By now, the other workers were used to her sitting with Ben’s table during lunch. It had become something of a routine.

  And then, the rumor started.

  She overheard it secondhand while pouring coffee—and nearly spit her drink everywhere.

  Apparently, everyone at work thought she and Ben were dating.

  Jen didn’t know how to broach that awkward little detail. She hadn’t done anything to fuel it—no flirting, no secret meetings, no long glances across the stockroom. All she’d done was bring her lunch, sit down, and talk games.

  Ben was part of her plan. His adventure team was essential.

  Still, rumors had a way of feeding themselves.

  Especially when people had nothing better to talk about.

  She chose to let it lie for now. As long as it didn’t get in the way, she wouldn’t waste energy trying to crush it. But she’d keep a closer eye on how she was perceived.

  That Friday, she’d brought pie. A treat she’d baked to share with the young staff. Nothing special—just something warm, homemade, and vaguely bribe-like.

  Ben was already halfway through his second slice.

  “So you’re still coming over to the workshop tonight, right?” he asked through a mouthful of crust.

  Jen nodded. “Yeah. Your team leader—are they informed?”

  Ben gave a thumbs-up, still chewing.

  “Yeah, we good. Whole squad knows.”

  He paused to shovel another forkful in. “Damn, this pie is boom.”

  Jen smiled and shook her head. “It’s bomb, Ben. Not boom.”

  He grinned, crumbs in his beard.

  “Nah. It’s boom now.”

  Hours later, Jen stood at her front door and locked it for the last time.

  Everything she was keeping fit inside her Saab. That weekend, several couples were scheduled to view the house. It was happening—fast.

  She checked the GPS on her phone and followed it to the other side of town. The building in front of her was an old, three-story apartment complex—run-down, with chipped siding and a crooked entrance. It was the exact address Ben had given her.

  She double-checked her lock, then headed inside.

  The hallway walls were covered in graffiti. The tiled floors were dusty, littered with cans, candy wrappers, and cigarette butts. Jen chose the stairs—she doubted the elevator saw enough maintenance to be worth the risk.

  She took the three flights briskly, passing clusters of youth loitering on each level—most of them between seventeen and their mid-twenties.

  At the door marked 3D23, she knocked.

  It opened almost immediately.

  Ben stood there with a wide grin.

  “You’re here! Come in.” He stepped aside and waved her in.

  She nodded, stepping into a modest apartment that had clearly been converted for business. What should have been a living room was set up as a meeting space. A large, round table stood in the center, surrounded by mismatched computer chairs, stools, and folding seats. Around it sat ten young people.

  But one of them immediately stood out.

  She radiated authority.

  Jen’s eyes were drawn to her sharp features, thick brows, and caramel complexion. Her arms were crossed, and her expression was unimpressed.

  As Jen entered, the girl’s intense brown eyes swept over her, then flicked back to Ben.

  “Is this your soccer mom girlfriend, Benny?” she teased.

  Jen rolled her eyes, already trying to place the girl. In her past life, most of her dealings with the Robin Arrows had been through Ben. He’d mentioned running their foraging unit while the other leaders handled different responsibilities. It made sense that she didn’t recognize this one.

  “Do I really look like a soccer mom?” Jen asked no one in particular, pouting theatrically.

  From one of the seated youths came a quiet mutter—but she caught it.

  “God, she’s hot.”

  Jen raised an eyebrow, shook her head, and let it go.

  Ben cleared his throat quickly, trying to steer things back to neutral.

  “Big sis Lea, this is Jen. Jen, that’s Lea—our captain.” He gave an awkward shrug. “We work together at the store. Well… she’s my boss. So, like… be nice.”

  Jen gave Ben a grateful look for clarifying their relationship and resetting the tone. Then she turned to the girl who clearly ran the group and got right to business.

  “I’ll cut to the chase,” she said. “The upcoming game, Thirian—I’m planning to establish a foothold. I’ve got missions in mind that’ll require a solid team. So I’m looking to hire a group that knows how to keep quiet and get things done.”

  She shrugged casually.

  “I’d offer to bring you into the guild I’m starting, but Ben says you’re not interested in guild drama.”

  Lea listened in silence, eyes narrowing slightly.

  “Didn’t expect to get commissioned before the game even launched,” she said. “I’m curious—how do you know what kind of missions the game has? The trailers are all just scenery and immersion hype. No one’s officially released details about quests or systems.”

  She tilted her head, voice cooling.

  “I don’t know anyone with inside info—so forgive me if I’m blunt. And lastly… our workshop is practically unknown. Why us?”

  Jen nodded.

  “Fair questions. But since I’m only here to hire you, I’ll be keeping some secrets to myself.”

  She folded her arms.

  “As for how I heard about you—Ben and a few others were talking about Thirian at work. I overheard. I’ll admit, my sources on the game are top-notch… but I don’t have a wide net of player contacts yet.”

  That was just enough truth to cover the lie.

  And just enough lie to protect the truth.

  Lea studied her carefully, then leaned back and tapped the table with her knuckles.

  “Okay. Compensation,” she said. “We want 70% in real-world currency, 30% in-game. The amount depends on the mission’s scale, duration, and difficulty. Keep in mind, we’ll be starting at level one. We’ll need time to grind to at least level ten before we can take on anything serious.”

  She added, “Right now, we’ve got fifteen headsets. That’s our current workforce.”

  Jen smiled.

  “I want twenty-one of you, starting day one, and for two weeks after launch. During that time, you’ll be under my command. In return, I’m offering seven neural headsets, plus 30% of the loot from any treasure chests or missions we complete.”

  She paused.

  “And I guarantee your team will stay on pace with frontline players—both in gear and in level. That’s my offer.”

  The younger members murmured among themselves.

  Seven headsets.

  To them, that was a golden ticket—and the missions wouldn’t even slow down their early leveling. The deal seemed too good to be true.

  Lea raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

  “We want 50%.”

  Jen chuckled.

  “No can do. I’ve got a kid to feed—I can’t feed your whole squad too. The deal’s already generous. Don’t push it.”

  That shift—subtle but sharp—was enough. The room felt it.

  Jen’s earlier friendliness gave way to something colder, steelier. She wasn’t here to play games.

  Lea narrowed her eyes, leaning forward. Her curiosity was now full-on suspicion.

  “Do you even know the penalty for death in Thirian?”

  Jen didn’t hesitate.

  “Dungeon deaths cost 10% of your current level’s XP—no gear loss. Field deaths cost 20% XP, plus a piece of gear is randomly dropped. Special regions? Full level loss and the same item penalty as field deaths.”

  Lea let out a low whistle.

  “Damn, soccer mom. You do know your stuff.”

  She’d asked mostly to test her—but now her mind was spinning.

  No one she knew had access to that kind of information.

  Not yet.

  Beta tester. The thought hit her like lightning. If Jen had actually been part of the beta, that made her ten times more valuable than any upfront cash. Most beta testers had already been scooped up by corporations, their insight funneled to elite guilds and mercenary groups with money to burn.

  And here? A potential beta tester just walked into her workshop offering them a deal?

  Lea licked her lips subtly.

  This wasn’t just a payday.

  It was a jackpot.

  “I’ve got one more term,” Lea said, voice steady. “If one of my players loses more than 50% of a level’s XP—anywhere—I want full compensation for that day.”

  “Our daily rate is $200.”

  Jen raised an eyebrow.

  “You want $200 every time someone drops half a level? No.”

  She leaned forward, just a little.

  “You get $200 per full level lost. Take it or leave it.”

  Lea didn’t blink.

  “Deal.”

  The two women stared at each other a moment longer. Then, silently, they each reached for the pen.

  Together, they drafted the terms on paper and signed their names.

  The deal was done.