Chapter 39 #2
“Yeah, about five years. He was already threatening me back then, saying I’d never find traction in the industry if I dropped him.
I was afraid of what he was saying, but then I found that new job, finished my traineeship, went on the hunt for sponsors, and then founded PixelPulse.
I never really crossed paths with him during that time.
I saw him at trade fairs and conferences, but I was always able to avoid him somehow.
I managed to get those sponsorships, and I got encouragement about the game from everyone I met.
I thought his words were nothing more than an empty threat. ”
“So why now?”
I frown at Sophia, and she gives me a weary smile. “Because knocking down a finished house of cards is more satisfying than destroying a half-built one. It hurts me more now than it would have a few years ago. I had nothing back then. Now I have everything, and I’m about to lose it all.”
My entire body aches as I stand there in the hallway outside Sophia’s room.
It’s like every word out of her mouth has just beaten the living daylights out of me.
My limbs are like lead, my lungs are on fire, my throat itches, and the skin around my eyes feels tight, because I ended up crying with her.
And I can’t even be angry at her. Sophia was my age when she came up with the idea for Novel Haven.
And she wasn’t as lucky as I was, with an understanding, supportive boss.
She had Hank. Sure, the moment she realized that clause was in her contract, the moment she realized the problem, she should have talked to us.
On the other hand, I can understand that she wanted to find a solution to the problem first. Still, the more we talk about it, the less sure I am that such a solution even exists.
She has nothing to go against Hank, and he has everything.
She’s still in her room right now, calling Mr. Crow, and then she’ll be back at our booth. I’m already on my way there. Or I should be.
For a moment, I lean against the cool wall of the corridor, eyes closed.
My ears are ringing, and scraps of conversation bang around in my head while my mind still tries to piece them together into a meaningful picture.
There’s a dull headache pounding behind my eyes, like all my thoughts want to claw their way out of my brain.
There has got to be a loophole somewhere, a hidden answer.
It’s the same with video games: The more information you collect and the more enemies you encounter, the closer you get to finding the key and to winning.
I feel like I’m surrounded by danger, but I can’t see a way out; there’s no light at the end of the tunnel.
I want to send an update to our team chat, but I see that Sophia’s already explained everything.
Her text is shorter and more objective than her explanation to me was, but everyone seems to realize the implications.
The others’ replies follow at breakneck speed.
They’ve probably been on pins and needles for the last few hours.
Ramon: Bloody hell.
Aria: I can’t believe this.
Nat: Hank is such an arse. What does he care, if he didn’t want the game anyway? Like he didn’t have enough money already.
Kamal: The man has ego problems, not money problems.
Nat: The man is only a few feet away from me, and he’s going to have erectile problems after my heels connect with his bollocks.
Lara: I don’t think you’ll get us any kudos for attacking Hank.
Nat: Sure, but how satisfying would that be? What are we going to do now?
Sophia: Stay put. This isn’t a battle we can fight in public. My solicitor’s working on it, and I’m about to call Mr. Crow to explain the situation—and then I’ll prepare a statement.
Nat: As long as he doesn’t have proof, it’s his word against yours. With any luck, we’d still be in the running, right?
Sophia: It’s possible. I’m on it, and I’ll keep you posted. I’m definitely not giving up without a fight just yet.
The messages keep coming, but I lock my phone screen and put it away.
When the constant vibrating doesn’t stop, I set it to airplane mode.
I can’t handle any more discussions right now.
Even with the others’ fighting spirit. I feel empty.
Novel Haven was everything I lived for these last few years.
Sure, I have so much more too—great friends, my family, London, coding in and of itself—but I built my entire life on this.
Gave it my all. The fact that I might lose it now feels like the ground has been pulled out from under my feet.
I follow the hallway that’s supposed to lead me back to our booth and Nataly.
The convention day is over, thank goodness.
I’ve just got to make it one or two more hours.
That’s all. Tears sting my eyes again, and I blink them away angrily.
Nataly should have no trouble finding a new job.
Everyone needs social media management, especially with Nat’s creative brain to go along with it.
But who’s going to hire me when all I have to show is two years’ work on a stolen game?
And do I even want that? Do I want to leave Novel Haven behind like it’s not a part of my soul?
What if this isn’t just the end of Novel Haven, but of Aria, Nat, and me too?
What if I have to move house? I don’t want to start from scratch again, not now that I’ve finally arrived.
I look around, blinking in confusion. Did I take a wrong turn?
I’m pretty sure I would have remembered the large, framed painting of a black horse on the wall next to me.
I rub my face, groaning. My forehead throbs, and for the first time, I wish I was back among the London city noise.
The honking cabs, blaring sirens, sounds of planes circling over London’s many airports—something to drown out my thoughts.
But everything is quiet here. The red rug muffles my footsteps as I walk up to one of the large windows and gaze down into the courtyard.
The sun is low, and the bushes cast long shadows.
If I’m not mistaken, I must be in the eastern wing.
Great, I’m smack on the other side of where I need to be.
I start moving again, because I might as well go forward at this point.
I open a heavy wooden door and step into a new corridor.
At least the lights are on everywhere. I casually wipe my eyes, not even questioning the fact that I’m crying again. Or still. Maybe I just can’t stop.
As I’m about to reach the next door, I smell it.
The past.
The panic.
The biting odor of mind-numbing fear.
Ashes.
Crackling.
Screams.
My name, but no one’s coming.
My heart, too loud, about to burst from my chest.
Pain.
I wake up, opening my eyes too late, and I can’t get out. Everything is bright. Everything is dark. I can’t breathe.
Lara!
My mum’s voice. I’ve never heard a scream like that before, like a wounded animal. It’s a noise that rips apart the silence, the smoke, the night sky, my insides. Or maybe the smoke is the thing tearing up my organs, shredding my lungs into exhausted little bits with thousands of needles?
You’ve got to get out! You’ve got to run!
My thoughts keep trying to get through to me, but they don’t stand a chance against my fear. My heart is beating too fast. My feet are glued to the floor; they won’t move. I can’t move. I can’t breathe, I can’t run, I can’t scream.
Something else is screaming.
Not my mum.
It’s more mechanical.
A shrill sound.
I wanted sirens. I wanted noise.
Now I’ve got noise.