Page 128 of Fake Game

I return my attention back to my game, forcing myself to forget everything.

Until Lee nudges me again.

I glare up at her. I had just died in the mines, and—even though I am dating the town doctor—he is still charging me a thousand gold to revive me. Asshat.

Lee bites her lip and points.

I follow the direction of her finger to where Phoebe has slipped into the seat next to Lee. She has her legs crossed at the ankles and is fiddling with her gold watch. My annoyance dissipates, turning into a cloud of ugly dread.

I pause my game and slip off my headphones, the deep whooshing hum of the airplane coming back into focus. The anticipation in the air crackles around us like electricity, setting everyone on edge as we wait for Phoebe to speak. All I want is to put my headphones back on, to drown out the ambient noise and return to my little mind palace.

Phoebe opens her mouth, but when her eyes finally rise to meet mine, I see something shocking: a flash of sympathy. I don’t think anyone else notices because she quickly steels her resolve, her shoulders straightening just a little bit more.

“I have my contacts looking into your case, Miss Malloy, since I doubt it’s something the local detectives will be able to piece together when they don’t have the full story to go off of.”

“I’d prefer if you called me Deer.”

“I can, but I think, for the purposes of this conversation, it is a little moot.”

I press my lips together.

She tilts her head. “We can continue our chat somewhere more private, but considering the situation, you’re going to have to tell everyone here sooner or later. You pose a security threat to them all until this is sorted.”

I kind of hate her.

And I definitely hate that what she’s saying makes sense.

Everything is getting so messy, and I am having trouble keeping track of all the webs I have woven. Jackson already knows everything, Parker will find out from his sister, and Sydney knows my eyes aren’t blue. There are hundreds of little cracks in my armor. Do I really want to continue wasting myenergy keeping it together when it is so obviously about to crumble?

“We can talk to her in the bedroom?” Jackson rests his hands on mine.

I let out a sigh. “No. She’s right. It’s a pointless fight.”

My gamer identity was supposed to be my safety blanket, keeping me warm and protected. But all the threats around me are like someone throwing gasoline on the fabric, and at any moment it could go up in flames. It is no longer shielding me; it is putting me in more danger.

I maneuver my hands, so they’re clasped with Jackson’s, and raise my gaze to Phoebe, not shying away from her arctic eyes.

“What do you want to know?”

The smile she gives me is borderline villainous as she raises a hand and motions behind me. The man who had been sitting next to her comes forward and slips into the spare seat next to Aleks, pulling out a tablet and keyboard.

“Let’s start with the beginning. When were you first approached by the Deer Hunters?”

This is going to be a long flight.

I take my time, explaining to her how they were just spam comments initially. That the group seemed like just a bunch of trolls until the comments started getting a little more aggressive. That they hadn’t done anything outright threatening for the first couple of months, so I’d brushed it under the rug. They’d made me uncomfortable, sure, but a lot of comments and DMs made me uncomfortable, and at least these hadn’t been sexual in nature. And that my moderator took charge of fielding it all once it became apparent that they were set on me.

When I tell her that they started to insinuate they had my address, I feel Jackson tense up beside me. There was a scare at Halloween a few months earlier that had me worried they were stalking me. I explain that I’d begun taking a few moreprecautions after all that, that I stopped going out so much or posting where I was until after I’d already been somewhere. The more I speak, the more I realize that it was a mistake to keep this hidden for so long.

Phoebe asks for the details of all my moderators so she can fact check, wary that they might have hidden details from me to keep from making me even more worried. It’s that realization that causes a chill to break over my body, puckering my skin.

I gloss over the swatting, knowing that all she has to do is look my stream up online to see how that went. I don’t need to choke myself up with that again.

When I tell her about the message before the expo and the odd comments that cropped up during it, I find myself wincing. It was such a clear sign, I’d known that, and yet I’d refused to fully acknowledge it.

Phoebe’s gaze never strays, not once. And what first seemed like a cold and emotionless stare I’m learning is actually her version of determined and calculating. It almost becomes comforting because she is so unwavering and there is no hint of judgement or pity.

“I just don’t get it. What have I done to warrant all this?” My throat is dry from all the talking.

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