Chapter 27
Lara
Nothing. Nothing but silence on the other side of the door, and the only thing I can hear is the impatient drumming of my fingers on the handle of my suitcase.
I knock again.
Still nothing.
“Sophia?” My voice echoes in the empty hallway, unfortunately not muffled by the dark-red rug, and as usual, I hate hearing myself sound so hoarse.
I hope the next few days won’t be too noisy.
If I have to talk much over all the visitors they’re expecting, I can forget sounding anything close to normal.
I’m about to knock again when I hear something on the other side of the door. A moment later, it opens a crack. “It’s you!” Sophia says, and I return her gaze in confusion. Who else would be knocking on her door?
“You were gone so suddenly, and . . .” My gaze stops on her neck, which is covered in the red blotches she gets when she’s stressed. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just a bit of a headache, probably from all the stress.”
“You sure?” I push, and I can see Sophia’s eyes widen. It’s just for a split second, but it’s enough to realize something is up. “You were acting weird back in the lounge too.”
“It’s just the nerves,” she replies, waving her hand airily.
“I already told you about our budget plan . . .” She waits for me to nod and goes on.
“This is the first time I’ve been in a leading position for this sort of project, and I just didn’t realize how many different expenses there would be.
I was talking to Maeve about it earlier; she’s just started her own business and has her own miscalculations to deal with.
It’s rare for indie teams to make it big without sponsors these days, and . . .”
Sophia rambles on, and though her worries about our finances seem genuine, I get the distinct feeling there’s something else underneath.
Why would she think about her budget plan right here and now, of all places?
But she obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, and who am I to force her?
I know this type of evasive answer all too well myself—which at least helps me know what I need to do in moments like these.
“Do you need anything?” I ask as her monologue peters out. “Should I have someone bring you some food or something to drink? Some painkillers? Or would you rather rest a little?”
Sophia smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. They look sad and a bit dull. “That’s sweet of you, thanks. But I’ve already taken one, and they do have room service here. I’ll order something if I get hungry. You too, all right?”
“So what was that about the budget plan?”
“The food is free, so do tuck in.”
“I will. And then I’ll send pictures to the group chat to make everyone jealous.”
Now Sophia’s lips do twitch a little bit.
“I’ll go and have a look at the booth, record some material for Nat. You sure you don’t want to come?”
“I’ll have a look as soon as the medication kicks in. But you go ahead, and give me a call if there’s anything wrong.”
I give Sophia a quick hug, and she clings to me like I’m the one supporting her.
It’s the other way around, normally. After she shuts the door behind her, I give Aria and Nat a summary of my evening.
Maybe they have a clue what’s going on with Sophia.
Maybe it’s not anything financial at all; maybe it’s something private.
Sophia talks to us about her dating and family life now and then, but she’s not as open about it as Ramon or Nat are.
Finding a balance between professionalism and friendship as a boss must be hard, especially since we’re all so close with each other.
My message stays unread. Maybe Aria and Nat are out and about or busy binge-watching a show.
I drop my suitcase off in my pleasantly dry room, then stroll along the empty corridors toward the exhibition space.
I have a map of the estate on my mobile so I don’t get lost in any of the numerous wings of the grand building.
The evening sun filters in through the windows dotting the cream-wallpapered walls.
The burgundy rug that runs the length of these corridors muffles the sound of my footsteps.
As I turn a corner, I nearly drop my phone.
In the shadows to my right stands a suit of armor that towers over me by a good foot.
“Bloody hell,” I whisper, and then I take a pic and post it to the group chat as well.
This place looks so much like the set of a Jane Austen adaptation that Aria and Nat would absolutely lose their marbles.
According to my phone, I just need to walk down four steps, and then I’ll be right by the doors to the ballroom that’ll serve as our exhibition space over the next few days.
Indeed, by the foot of the stone stairs, I find a set of solid wooden double doors with delicate carvings forming the Crows’ family crest. I push on the left-hand door, and it swings open silently.
My jaw drops. The hall is enormous. On the other end, I can see a stage with a red velvet curtain. There would probably be a band playing there, normally—or do people of the Crows’ caliber normally book orchestras?
The lights are on, but there’s no one in here except for me—apart from the security staff. Being here feels illegal, like when you used to run around the dark, empty school corridors after hours.
There are several booths spread out in front of me.
I recognize Capcom, Square Enix, and Rockstar, and my entire body starts to tingle.
We get to have our exhibit right along with them.
Here. Next to all these giants of the industry.
I stroll down the aisles, marveling at the booths like a child in an empty fairground, until I finally reach the area where the participants’ games have their exhibits.
The booths here are a lot smaller and set at an intersection, which means I’ll be seeing a lot of my competition.
There are some individual glass booths back by the wall.
Those must be for the streamers presenting our games live to their communities.
It’s a strange mixture: the majestic room with its floor-to-ceiling windows, chandeliers, stucco, and pale marble flooring, and then the booths with all their computers, the streaming area under its neon-pink lighting, and the fridges stuffed with energy drinks.
My gaze falls on Akito’s booth. It must be his; the walls are so white, they’re nearly glowing.
There’s a powder-blue spotlight for the ceiling, and the shelves are stocked with several VR headsets and motion trackers for people’s hands and feet.
Right next to their booth, I see Muhammad’s RPG, Shadow Strike, and across from that, unmistakably, is Luca’s.
His booth design is up there with the big publishers.
It must be a custom build, because the walls aren’t white like the others, instead more like ancient stone walls.
A large train station clock that’s set to midnight stands by the booth.
It’s covered in deceptively realistic-looking spiderwebs.
The computer screens they’ll be using for the demo are set in old, decorative picture frames.
Those will probably be showing the Desolate Dread trailer tomorrow.
Right in the back, I can even see a fog machine.
I’d rather not know how much they had to stump up for all this.
At the same time, I’m surprised that Luca needs funding if Bytes & Bits is obviously willing to spend that much on their booth.
It certainly is proof that Hank believes in their game.
As I turn away from their booth and walk on, my thoughts of Luca and Hank are forgotten in the blink of an eye, because I catch sight of the place I’m here for: my home.
I’m drawn in by the book nook that makes up our booth like a moth drawn to a flame.
Seeing Kamal’s pictures was one thing, but walking into this place has got to be up there as one of the strangest things I’ve ever done in my life.
I spent hours decorating the lighthouse in Novel Haven.
The potted succulents on the windowsill, the books on their shelves, the armchairs and ottomans.
In-game, there would be a curled-up cat or dog lying on one of these. Or a capybara, if Aria had her way.
I drop into the green armchair, almost expecting a puff of dust despite the fresh-wood smell mingling with the plastic of the new keyboards and computer mice at the gaming stations.
The lighting inside our booth is warm, like evening sunlight slanting in through the windows of the Novel Haven lighthouse.
A coffee cup with the logo of one of our in-game shops is balanced on a stack of books.
Kamal and his brother have really outdone themselves.
They’ve attached wood-laminated chipboard to the otherwise white walls, which makes the booth feel nice and cozy.
The longer I stay here, the more I feel like I’m immersed in my own world, leaving the real one behind.
Driven by curiosity, I keep getting to my feet again and again, inspecting everything as if our booth weren’t just a few square feet, but the size of an actual house.
There’s a map of Novel Haven on one wall—the one from the game with all its cute little drawings of buildings and landmarks.
The journal, which is meant as a save icon, lies next to the narrow bed covered in pillows that’s meant to provide comfortable seating for tomorrow’s visitors.
They can sit here, record content, or listen to the sounds of Novel Haven on a headset: the rush of waves, sea gulls, and rustling paper.
Even the elephant-shaped pencil sharpener has made its way onto the desk.
A laugh escapes my lips, and I clap a hand to my mouth to stop the noise from disrupting the reverent silence.