Chapter Three
Chapter
Three
When I show up to Game Knight on Thursday evening, I find my sister already gushing about her character to Shay, whom I recognize from the many pictures Mona has shared with me.
When Mona sees me, she waves frantically, vibrating with excitement. “Reagan! Finally. I’ve been waiting to introduce you two for ages.” She turns to rest her palm gently on Shay’s upper arm. “This,” she says, “is Shay.”
Shay’s easy grin with Mona shifts to a friendly close-lipped smile as she turns to me with an outstretched hand. “Hi, Reagan. I’ve heard so much.”
“So have I,” I tease. “I’m looking forward to playing together.”
Shay strikes me as different from the women Mona usually goes for.
Mona tends to date often and briefly, spending a few bright weeks with fellow eccentric artists, quiet academics, or thoughtful musicians, relationships that fizzle out as soon as the newness wears off.
But my first impression of Shay is sleek and businesslike.
Her straight dark hair, parted to the right, falls in a smooth wave and ends in a blunt line at her chin.
She must have just come from her job—Mona mentioned she works part-time at a lab between her senior-year classes at Yale—or she simply has impeccable style, with her thin gray turtleneck tucked into dark maroon-and-black-striped wide-legged trousers.
Her heeled boots bring her of a height with me and Mona.
Even though her smile seems genuine, I can’t help but note how calculating her dark eyes are as she sizes me up.
Her handshake grip is strong, and something about her seems vaguely familiar, though I can’t pinpoint what.
“Thanks again for inviting us to play,” I say, though she really invited only Mona. “Do you always play at Game Knight?”
“No, this is my first time,” Shay admits.
“Our group used to only play together online, but then Colin got this job and our DM moved more local. It was his idea to play here, to shake up our group dynamic with two new players and a brand-new campaign.” There’s a line of tension between her dark brows, and I wonder whether perhaps Shay wasn’t always on board to open up the group.
But then she looks to Mona, and her expression softens.
“I think you’ll both have fun. I’ve been playing with this group for years, and they’re all fantastic. ”
Oh good. That’s one point in favor of our mystery edgelord. “So you like the DM?” I press. I will not use his ridiculous code name. I refuse.
Shay nods vehemently, sending her hair swaying. “He’s the best one I’ve ever had. You’re lucky you got the open spots.”
Mona checks the time on her phone and jumps a little. “Oh! We should head down.” She threads her arm through Shay’s. “Tell me again about your character? Her name is Vera, right?”
Shay begins to describe what I gather is her human ranger character, and I let her and Mona lead the way, winding among Game Knight’s shelves and into the store’s basement.
At the foot of the stairs, a long hallway leads us past several colored doors.
One is closed—though I can hear raucous laughter within—but when I peek into the next two empty rooms, it becomes clear that each is decorated with a theme.
One has star-speckled galaxy wallpaper and LED lights outlining every corner and table edge, making it look just like some sci-fi starship’s observation room, while the other has an elaborate mural of a fantasy forest on its walls, a crystal ball on the table, and plastic leaves and fairy lights dangling from the ceiling.
But I know immediately when I enter our room that it would have been my first choice, too.
Gray foam bricks line the room’s walls to give the impression of the interior of a castle—or a medieval dungeon.
A dark chandelier hangs from the ceiling, lit with fake flickering candles, complementing the plastic torches propped in each corner of the room.
A stuffed dragon’s head is mounted above the head of the table, and dark shelves are packed with game reference guides, supplies, maps, and everything else we could possibly ask for.
From the room’s hidden speakers hums a dark gothic chant, further setting the mood for the challenging adventure we’re soon to embark on.
I’m already impressed.
Three men sit at the central table, though I recognize only Colin; he glances up and gives a half-hearted wave to me and a full smile to Mona.
Sitting across from him is an older bearded man with a graying ponytail wearing a Hartford Whalers shirt.
His eyes crinkle when he sees us, and I immediately recognize his calm expression and measured smile from Shay’s face; he must be her dad.
“Hey, guys,” the man says, voice gruff. “I’m Arthur.”
I feel an old ache in my chest—a bitter, heady mix of nostalgia and resignation. I wonder how long they’ve been playing together. Did Arthur introduce Shay to the game, too? Did he DM games for her growing up?
“Hi, Arthur. I’m—”
“Oh, hi!”
As I go to shake Arthur’s hand, my introduction is suddenly cut off by Mona’s shrill, cheerful greeting—this must be her first time meeting him.
I smile and take a step back. Arthur’s not the one I’m most curious about, anyway.
I look to the man sitting in the DM’s chair, his expression hidden behind a trifold screen separating him from the rest of the table as he pores over his notebook and open laptop.
I have a screen just like it at home; many DMs prefer to keep their plans secret from their party for added dramatic effect.
From over the screen, I can see only the top of his head of thick blond hair and the shoulders of his light olive-toned sweater, though I’d say it’s still too early in the season for it.
I expected the infamous Warlock to have a much more sinister air about him, maybe even a trench coat, but there’s nothing sinister about a waffle knit.
I brace myself with a quick inhale. “Hey,” I say, shoving the worst of my assumptions about him aside and trying at friendliness. I set my and Mona’s character backstory sheets on the pile of others stacked next to him. “I’m Reagan. I’m looking forward to your game.”
His shoulders immediately tense, his hands freezing where he was writing something in his notebook. He’s slow to straighten, slow to lift his eyes, like he’s moving through water.
Finally, he looks up, and his gaze locks onto mine. “Reagan?”
Every muscle in my body tenses.
I know those eyes. Dark and rich brown, like a cup of strong black coffee first thing in the morning. I’m used to seeing them narrowed in challenge or emphasized by arched eyebrows. But in this moment, they are blown wide with shock.
He looks a little different. His shoulders are broader, his short hair is overgrown and not as immaculately styled, and he doesn’t look nearly as put together as he used to. But despite everything that’s changed, I know those eyes.
Realization hits me like white-hot lightning.
Oh, fucking hell.
Not Warlock.
Warlocke.
I can barely hear Shay’s introductions over the buzzing anger building in my skull. “You’ve already met Colin,” she’s saying, “and this is—”
“Wesley Locke,” I say, interrupting her. My voice is flat, toneless. My knuckles are white against the edge of the table. I don’t remember grabbing it.
Six years ago, I would have paid good money to watch him flounder in front of a group of people the way he is now, his skin several shades paler and his mouth hanging silently open.
But today? I’d pay good money to never see him again.
Shay blinks. “You know each other?”
“No,” Mona says with a gasp, swinging to face me. “Wesley Wesley?”
She has never met him, of course. But when I was in college, he’d been the subject of plenty of FaceTime catchups and rants over text. So, of course, when I nod, Mona—bless her—immediately turns, gently touches Shay’s forearm, and says, “We can’t stay.”
Shay blinks again, bewildered. “Why not?”
I glance between them. Shay’s shoulders slump, the stack of game guides and notebooks tucked under her arm hanging limp. Mona’s eyes are creased and apologetic, but the line of her mouth is set firm. “Because—”
“Because Mona thinks I can’t get over some old school-days rivalry.” I stride toward the opposite end of the table, each step feeling like I’m walking into battle.
Mona’s eyes flash to me, alarmed, because Wesley and I weren’t just college rivals. It’s more than that—even Wesley’s answering wince confirms that it’s more than that—but no. I don’t walk away. I won’t walk away.
“You went to school together, huh?” Arthur asks.
“College,” Wesley says absently, eyes still trained on me. It’s the first time he’s spoken since he gasped my name. He clears his throat. “Just a few towns up.”
I bare my teeth in what I hope passes for a grin. “It was a long time ago. Wasn’t it, Wesley?”
Finally, his jaw closes with a snap, and underneath dark brows knit with uncertainty, his eyes narrow at me.
He knows what I’m doing. I’m issuing a challenge.
I’m willing to stay and play nice, at least for this first session—but is he?
If he’s a shit DM, I’ll leave. If anybody gives Mona or me grief, we’ll leave. Hell, if he asks me to go, I will.
But there’s a sparkle in Mona’s eye when she looks at Shay, one I haven’t seen in a while. It’s not Wesley I’m giving a chance—it’s her.
And when he casts a sidelong glance to Shay, who drums her dark nails nervously against the cover of her notebook as she frowns at the room’s sudden tension, I know he’s thinking the same thing.
Wesley looks back at me. For a moment, all of our history and everything left unsaid seems to fill the space between us—it’s just as much of a battleground as the D&D game we’re about to play.
But as he slowly leans back in his chair and toys with the twenty-sided die lying on top of his notes, he nods to himself, just a little.
“Sure,” he says eventually, his tone neutral. “It was a long time ago.”
I sink down into my chair before looking at Mona, who still stands uncertainly. “It’s fine, Mona,” I say. “Let’s play.”
“But—”
“It’s fine.”
Wesley’s gaze is steady on my face as I settle in at the opposite end of the table from him. He doesn’t look surprised anymore—if anything, there’s an edge in his eyes that I can’t quite identify.
I’m sure he’s realizing all over again that, despite everything that happened, I’m not one to retreat from a challenge or disappear at the first sign of difficulty.
Not like he did.
And I’m sure he knows well enough already that both Sindra and I are perfectly capable of cutting him down.
Save for the gothic melody still ringing from the speakers, silence stretches across the table.
Wesley’s head is cocked slightly to the side, his eyes rapidly scanning through the backstory sheets I gave him.
I wonder what he thinks of them and whether he’s changing his mind about playing after all.
But then he speaks again, and all the shock and tension of the last five minutes fades out of his voice.
His tone is resonant and rich, like he’s stepping into a different role entirely, lulling us into a different world.
“And so our story begins, set against the backdrop of the ancient kingdom of Moros,” Wesley intones, and I find it difficult not to be pulled in by his lilting cadence.
“We will begin, as we always do, with introducing our cast of characters. Some of you have spent your whole lives in this kingdom, and you have witnessed firsthand the way a dark, insidious curse has recently gripped your homeland. Some of you have traveled from afar, called to help solve the mystery of this land’s plight.
And some of you are from a different realm entirely. ”
His eyes flash up to Mona’s face, then to mine.
“You are drawn unwittingly into this plot and tasked with saving a strange kingdom, lest its curse spread and infect your own…”