Page 104 of Game Over

“I know there’s something off about all this,” Jenna says quietly. “Kira doesn’t just disappear for days, then come back different.”

“Different how?” I’m genuinely curious about her assessment.

“Lighter somehow. But also more anchored.” Jenna looks down at her plate. “She used to float through life, never really belonging anywhere. Now she seems...”

“Found,” I finish.

She nods reluctantly. “Yes.”

When Kira returns, I notice how Jenna touches her arm—not possessively like I would, but with genuine affection. She asks about Kira’s anxiety, remembers her medication schedule, and mentions inside jokes from their shared past.

Something unexpected shifts in me. Jenna knows parts of Kira I don’t—childhood memories, embarrassing stories, years of friendship. And she’s stood by Kira through it all, protecting her in ways I never considered.

Perhaps we’re not so different after all. We both want what’s best for Kira. We just define “best” differently.

“So you’re into coding too?” I ask, genuinely surprised when Jenna mentions her job at a tech startup. “What languages?”

“Python mostly, but I dabble in Java and a bit of C++,” she answers, her initial stiffness melting slightly. “I’m working on a side project—an app that lets gamers connect based on skill level rather than just game preference.”

I lean forward. “That’s actually brilliant. Most platforms match based on games, but skill disparity ruins the experience.”

Jenna blinks. “Exactly! Kira’s been my guinea pig for testing. She’s always getting matched with amateurs who can’t keep up.”

“Tell me about it,” I laugh. “I mean, I had the same problem until we matched online.”

A strange moment passes when we both realize we’re bonding over our shared knowledge of Kira. The territorial beast inside me quiets, replaced by something unexpected—respect.

“More wine?” I refill Jenna’s glass without waiting for the answer. She doesn’t protest.

As dinner progresses, we discover more common ground—our shared contempt for pay-to-win games, our preference for strategy over button-mashing, even a similar taste in crime documentaries. With each revelation, the tension in the room decreases.

“I still can’t believe you prefer PlayStation over PC,” Jenna teases. “That’s practically sacrilege in our friend group.”

“The controller feels superior,” I defend, enjoying the casual debate. “Though I’ve got a custom PC setup that would make you drool.”

“I might have to see that,” she concedes.

I glance at Kira, who’s looking at us with bright eyes and a smile of pure happiness without the edge that usually colors our interactions. This smile is different—it’s the smile of someone witnessing two worlds they love collide successfully.

Under the table, I find Kira’s hand and give it a gentle squeeze. She squeezes back, a silent acknowledgment passing between us.

“You know,” Jenna says, leaning back in her chair, “you’re not exactly what I expected, Ryker.”

“Is that good or bad?” I ask, still holding Kira’s hand.

“I haven’t decided yet,” she replies with a slight smile that tells me she’s already decided—and it’s not entirely against me.

36

EPILOGUE

KIRA

One year later…

The late afternoon sunlight filters through gauzy curtains, painting golden patterns across my bare skin. I stretch, feeling the silky sheets slide against my body as I reach for Ryker beside me. Empty space greets my fingertips. We took a nap after lunch, and glancing at the clock on the nightstand, I’m surprised how long I slept—it’s almost five o’clock.

My eyes take in our Thailand villa—all teak and glass, perched on the edge of paradise. I can see the private beach stretching out like a postcard through the open doors, waves lapping at pristine sand.

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