Page 24 of Edge of Secrets

The two men looked at me, confused.

“If you want to appeal to people who love stories, it makes more sense to play up romantic, magical elements,” I continued. “Ultimately, to win, the player should be required to grow in some way—like a protagonist in a story with a growth arc.”

The frown that had creased Duncan’s brow since he opened the office door for me deepened. His chair creaked in protest as he pushed himself away from the table.

I pressed on. “I suggest introducing plot twists toward the end based on leaps of faith. Acts of selfless courage and generosity. This could deepen the feeling of mystery, intensify a sense of wonder, and set it apart from almost every other game of its type. Also, the game’s title. ‘The Dagger and the Thorn’ strikes me as, um ...”

“Pointy?” Bruce grinned at me.

“Yes, exactly,” I said. “Warlike, aggressive, hyper-masculine. You’re want to market this game to women, too, right? To that end, I recommend a more evocative, mythical, dreamlike image for the title. When I read about the sixth-level forest sequence with the lake and the magical swans, I thought of ‘The Golden Egg.’”

“The Golden Egg,” Bruce mused. “That has possibilities.”

“I like it,” Duncan announced.

Bruce whipped his head around, incredulous. “Really? No shit, Duncan. You’ve never liked anything imaginative in your whole life!”

“Not the title,” he said. “I mean her hair.”

Bruce looked confused. I stared from one to the other, mortified.

Duncan looked defensive. “So? What of it? I didn’t think I liked it at first. Now, I’ve decided that I like it. Is that so hard to understand?”

After a moment of uncertain silence, Bruce spoke up gallantly. “Well, ahh, fine. That was a sharp left turn in the conversation—par for the course when dealing with Duncan.” He shot me an apologetic look. “I didn’t have the pleasure of seeing how you wore your hair before, so I can’t offer any comparisons, but I can certainly say that it looks lovely now. If you’ll excuse the personal observation.”

“Thank you,” I said, my face hot. “I suppose. Strangest two-headed, backwards compliment I’ve ever gotten—but whatever. I’ll take it.”

“And if you got the approval of anybody as resistant to change as my brother, you better believe—it’s a humdinger,” Bruce added.

“Shut up, Bruce,” Duncan said.

“You’re acting unprofessional, Dunc,” Bruce murmured. “Count your breaths, remember? Activate your parasympathetic nervous system.”

“Don’t start,” Duncan ground out. “You’re bugging me.”

“Listen, gentlemen. My hair is beside the point,” I said. “I’m not loving this sharp left turn. Let’s get back on track. I’d much rather talk about what you think of my ideas.”

“I don’t like them,” Duncan said.

I exhaled slowly. “I see.” Well, shitstickles. This was going nowhere fast.

“I don’t want an interactive fairy tale.” His voice was impatient. “I want a fantasy adventure quest. What you’re proposing sounds impossible to reason through—an exercise in useless frustration.”

“But that’s just it,” I argued. “Reason isn’t the only tool people use when they’re problem solving. There are spells to break, dragons to defeat, a princess to woo. It should require using more heart, more soul, not just the head. It should be romantic, unexpected, moving. Surprising.”

“Duncan hates surprises,” Bruce informed me.

“Shut up, Bruce,” Duncan snarled at him.

“Sheathe your claws, Dunc. You’re scaring her,” Bruce warned.

“Not at all,” I said. “I don’t scare easily.” Which was true, actually. There was nothing all that scary about a brotherly spat, or even a few mild insults. Not after the Snake Eyes incident. The one good thing about a brush with mortal danger was the ruthless perspective that it afforded. One ceased to sweat the little things.

Duncan got up with an abruptness that knocked his rolling chair against the wall with a smack. He stalked out of the room, anger radiating from his broad, rigid back.

I watched the door fall shut behind him and turned to Bruce, bewildered. “What the hell is going on? Did I say something wrong? Is there something I don’t know?”

“No, not at all,” Bruce assured me. “He’s just that way. Don’t worry—he likes you. Really. I can tell from the way he acts. And your ideas are fascinating. It’s all good.”

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