Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Andi
I don’t have a thing for Cat Li. I can’t. I have a game to shepherd, which means I have zero time and energy to spare. Gamedevs a year out from launch have no business getting into new relationships; being with Sally during Aftermath ’s release taught me that. Also—Cat’s a foolish little idealist who believes in romance and fairy tales and happily-ever-afters. Most importantly, Cat’s dating my ex . My ex whom I share a D&D table with.
So no, I don’t have a thing for Cat Li. As for why my skin feels like it’s capable of casting chain lightning … hazard of walking a con floor for the first time in years. Simply put, I’m unused to the crowds. It has nothing to do with Cat.
Why is she here, anyway? And why, of all things, is she in a cosplay from the same franchise as me? The second I recognized her, my stomach did something weird and I tried to beat a retreat into the crowd, to no avail. Nothing moves more like molasses than a horde of distracted nerds.
As soon as that insufferable Zelda stan stopped pointing his DSLR in our direction, I slipped off to the bathroom to slap cold water on my face. In the mirror, my cheeks are a ruddy pink despite the droplets cooling my skin. I watch as one bead travels down my jawline and clings to my chin like a tear. I swipe it away with the back of one wrist.
Get. Ahold. Of yourself. My reflection stares back at me unmoved, as if saying, Don’t blame me. You’re the one who engaged her, came close to kissing her.
The graze of her clavicle against my knuckles. The heat emanating off her skin as I whispered her name. The curve of her Cupid’s bow, visible under that flimsy scarf, as she listed in toward me.
“Fucking shitballs mother fuck,” I say, glaring at myself.
My swearing gets the attention of the shroud of Pac-Man ghosts on either side of me. Freeing myself from their slack-jawed presence, I squeeze outside and check the time. Less than an hour remains before Heartrender takes the stage, so I run-walk back to the green room where Philo and Gabe should be getting ready.
They jump when I throw open the door. “Sorry,” I say, grabbing the doorknob to keep the slab of metal from reverberating. “Thought I was late.” I decide not to reveal who I ran into. Cat is at IAX as a gamer, not as a dev or panelist. I’m not about to blow her cover and blur the lines between us further.
“You’re good,” Philo says, letting go of Gabe’s wrist. She must’ve grabbed it in surprise when I burst in. “How was the floor?”
“Eh,” I shrug. I stitch my gaze to the sagging couch on the far end of the room. “Fine. Boring.”
“Told you we should’ve set up a booth,” Gabe grouses, flicking through his phone.
“We’ll have one next year,” Philo says, producing a binder out of nowhere. “Besides, would either of you have really wanted to spend all day among the unwashed masses, doling out free T-shirts and sanitizing headsets and controllers?” Neither Gabe nor I respond. “Didn’t think so. Now, if the two of you are done complaining, we have some talking points to review.”
We spend the next thirty minutes going over what counts as a spoiler and what is fair game and how close we are to reaching Alpha, when the game is fully playable from start to finish. (Spoiler: not very close. The reminder fills me with fresh panic and sends me diving for my laptop to squeeze in more words.) At a quarter till, we break, Philo to touch up her makeup and me to dash behind the curtain to change out of my Link clothes. The three of us reconvene backstage and exchange handshakes with Layla Aubrie, the BAFTA Award–winning voice actor Heartrender has hired to play a she/her Sentinel. We let her know the plan: to reveal her involvement with the project ten to fifteen minutes into the panel and then introduce her to the audience. With any luck, Layla will command the lion’s share of the auditorium’s attention, leaving me, Philo, and Gabe free to play the role of window dressing.
With five minutes to go, I break off from the group to peek behind the screen. Besides the five armchairs and coffee table supplied with bottles of water, an ocean of fans has gathered, with more filing in from beyond the two sets of double doors. It’s a veritable crush of humanity, dressed in everything from baggy jeans and hole-ridden T-shirts to Overwatch armor and kigurumi.
My throat closes up, tight as a wadded fist. Most everyone out there is excited for Compass Hollow . A good number of them may even be willing to plonk down $199.99 for the collector’s edition Philo’s already begun planning under Brett’s supervision. How can they have so much faith in us, in me? How can they be so certain we won’t waste their money, their time, and ruin what could’ve been an unforgettable, life-changing story and game?
I press a palm to my chest and take a breath. And another. And another. This isn’t TornadoCon, I tell myself. I’m not in Sydney, the horde out there doesn’t comprise Aftermath players, and I’m not standing backstage with Jan Eschler but with Philomena Okoro and Gabriel Lopez. My colleagues and my friends.
“I know. I both hate and love the seconds before something like this starts.”
I pull back from the edge of the screen, expecting to see Philo or Gabe or even Layla. Instead, I find Ainsley Ray, holding out a hand for me to shake. “ You’re moderating the panel?” I sputter.
She smirks, wiggling her fingers. Out of politeness, I take her hand. “Don’t worry, Andi. I’m not here to gouge you for information you don’t want to part with. Compass Hollow is being built by one of the most diverse teams in the history of Western gaming. I’d be remiss if I didn’t jump at the opportunity to moderate.”
“That’s a relief.” I crack a smile. “Does this mean I can look forward to not getting emails from you every week asking for exclusive interviews?”
“Not a chance,” Ainsley says, chuckling out the side of her mouth. “Unless … you wanna get together after this? Drinks at the bar followed by some one-on-one time in my room at the Tempo?” She drags her eyes up to meet mine. “Whaddya say? You can’t hold out on me forever, Andi Zhang.”
Out of the blue, an image of Cat’s face appears on the inside of my eyelids and I drop Ainsley’s hand a little too fast. Her eyes fill with hurt. Before I can come up with an excuse that sounds like an apology, Philo and Gabe join us.
“Ready?” our backstage handler asks.
He doesn’t wait for us to reply before shoving us in front of a thousand waiting fans.