Chapter 37
Luca
Don’t be blinded by loyalty. Not all allies stay true when the Great Darkness rolls in.
I catch sight of Hank before I even make it to our booth.
I can see the flash of his white teeth. What I used to see as a confident smile now makes him look like a shark on the prowl.
There’s a man with a camera standing in front of him.
Hank is giving an interview with a triumphant expression on his face.
Much as I try to convince myself that he has a right to all this publicity, there’s a storm of contradictory emotions raging inside me.
I understand why he wants to screw over Sophia.
If someone had stolen Desolate Dread and was using it to apply for the prize, I’d be just as angry as he is.
But I don’t think I would have ignored the consequences or the possible collateral damage the way he’s doing.
Especially not if that collateral damage was people with dreams of their own.
People like Lara who’d get unwittingly swept up in the whole thing.
Never mind how much it’s cost her to even come here.
Our booth is busier now, after Hank’s presentation, than it was before.
We’ve even got some big-name influencers hanging out here.
I recognize Dylan, an esports icon and Maleek’s favorite streamer.
I should go over there, record something for our socials, and get an autograph for Maleek, but instead, I can’t tear my gaze away from Hank.
His relaxed stance, his hand jovially patting a reporter’s shoulder.
My pulse starts to race, and I’m surprised to find anger burning inside me.
I don’t even know who I’m angry at. Hank?
Yes; he could easily have just reported Sophia to the judges.
Sophia? Her too, because why the hell did she think she’d get away with it?
But I’m angry at myself as well, because now I’m standing here with no clue how to help Lara.
And because I’m standing here thinking about her instead of focusing on the task at hand, despite the fact that she obviously doesn’t want me there.
Hank waves goodbye to the camera team and then strolls over to meet me, looking unnervingly cheerful. “Oh, that’s Dylan, isn’t it?” He goes over and does what I should have done, filming Dylan and his fans at our booth.
“What was that all about?”
“Eh?” Hank glances up from his mobile. “That guy there? He was from Button Banter, that YouTube talk show. They did a report on Novel Haven yesterday, and now they have a few things to clarify.”
He gives me a self-satisfied smile, and I struggle to keep my face blank. “That’s not what I meant. I watched Sophia Richards’s performance.”
“Oh. Well, I told you I’d take care of things eventually.”
“And eventually had to be now? At the trade fair?”
“It’s my way of making sure it’ll go public. I don’t want us to sort out this whole thing via email just for it to get swept under the rug.”
“But . . . like that? Did she really deserve that?”
“You mean you don’t mind the theft of intellectual property?” Hank raises his eyebrows, and all of a sudden, he looks like the version of Hank I’ve seen in several meetings: cold and calculating.
“No, of course not,” I say quickly. “But you know how the internet is. They’re going to tear her apart. And not just her as a person—the entire studio too.”
Hank sighs, draping an arm around my shoulder in an almost fatherly way.
He pulls me aside a bit so we’re no longer blocking the entrance to the booth.
“I know you fancy that girl from PixelPulse. But I did warn you: You need to separate the personal and the professional. Would you be defending her like this if she’d stolen Desolate Dread? ”
“I wouldn’t make a fool of her in public,” I protest.
“Wouldn’t you? If you’d told that Lara girl all about your idea, and a few months later, you’d seen your video game idea listed on Steam and all those other platforms?
Wouldn’t that hurt, at least a little bit?
And what if she then had the nerve to apply for funding with your game idea, to build a booth and call all of it her own?
Would you still be able to stay professional?
” He tilts his head like he’s honestly waiting for an answer from me.
“I . . . ,” I begin, not knowing what my next words should be.
Though I was sure until recently that I would have gone about things differently, his questions are starting to unnerve me.
I let my gaze wander around our booth. Our little Zachary figurines on the shelves, the train station clock, and the game-replica streetlamp with its dim glow.
“Desolate Dread is my life,” I say, finally.
“Maybe I’d find it hard to stay professional.
But is Novel Haven your life? I don’t think so. ”
“No. But Bytes & Bits is. So forgive me if we don’t follow the same approach, but I hired you for a reason: because I knew from the moment we met that you’d fight for your cause tooth and nail, with everything you’ve got. Just like I would.”
I recall the fear in Lara’s eyes, how she lay in my arms for a heartbeat, exhausted, before the anger took over her features.
Hank’s claim that I have that trait in common with him, that I share his ruthlessness, makes my stomach clench in discomfort.
That’s probably because I know he’s right.
I pushed myself to my limits—and over them—for this game.
I wouldn’t hesitate for a second to do it again.
Wasn’t I planning to keep my distance from Lara for that very reason?
Not that I was particularly successful at that bit.
“Could you please mind the booth again?” Hank asks.
The right corner of his mouth twitches, because he knows he’s hit a nerve.
“If I’m not much mistaken, the man heading toward us so purposefully is from The Guardian.
I reckon we have some interviews to do, now that we’re not just in the running but in first place by a real margin.
” Hank flashes me a smile. “Desolate Dread is going to win, Luca. You’re welcome. ”