Warcross (Warcross #1)(51)

“Em,” Hammie calls to me as I head to my door. I turn around to see her hurrying toward me, a package tucked under her arm. She holds it out to me. “Wear this around your head when you sleep. It knocks me out pretty fast.”

I squeeze the soft fabric. “Thanks,” I say.

She shrugs once. “I don’t mean to keep pushing you.” She shoves her hands into her pockets. “You can tell me, you know, if you’re having trouble with something. I’ll train one-on-one with you.”

I can see her chess mind sorting through the pieces of my words, not quite believing my excuses, looking a dozen steps ahead for what I might do next. She senses something’s bothering me. “I know,” I reply, giving her a smile. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“It’s a plan.” She smiles back and I feel a twinge of guilt. I’ve never been a part of a group like this—a tight-knit group of friends that do everything together. We could be closer, if I let her in.

Instead, I just bid her good night. She does the same, but I can see the doubt in her eyes as she turns away and heads to her own room. I watch her go before sliding my door shut behind me.

That night, as I’m taking a late swim in my balcony’s pool in an attempt to clear my head, I get a message from Hideo.

You’re frustrated.

I pause in my laps, blink warm water out of my eyes, and tap on Hideo’s hovering text in my vision before I can think it through.

My chat request is sent, and a moment later, Hideo accepts it, appearing at the edge of the pool as a virtual image. He’s in a room dimly lit by warm light, pulling his tie loose. Without it, he looks more his age, impossibly young and less authoritative. To my annoyance, my heart tugs sharply at the sight of him. His knuckles don’t look bruised tonight. I guess he hasn’t been boxing in the past few days.

I lift my arms out of the water and fold them on top of the pool’s tiled edge. Droplets of water on my tattooed skin catch the moonlight. “How can you tell?” I reply.

“I haven’t heard from you in days.”

I’m in no mood to share my training insecurities with him. “What if I’m just saving up info for the next time I report to you?” I say instead. “I haven’t even gone into the Dark World yet.”

Hideo turns away for a moment as he puts away his cuff links. “And is that why I haven’t heard from you?” he says over his shoulder.

“Is this your way of telling me I should be making faster progress?”

He looks back at me, his expression partly hidden in shadows. “It’s my way of asking if I can help you out.”

“I thought I was the one helping you out.”

He pauses again, but in the dim light, his head turns slightly toward me to reveal the hint of a smile on his lips. His eyes hold mine for a moment. I’m glad for the darkness that hides my reddening cheeks. “I know you’re exhausted,” he finally says.

I look away and brush beads of water from my arm. “No pity needed.”

“None given. I wouldn’t have put you there if you couldn’t handle it.”

Always with his knowing attitude. “If you want to help me out,” I say as I sink back into the water, “you could always offer some moral support.”

“Moral support.” He turns to face me, his smile turning playful. “And what kind of moral support would you like?”

“I don’t know. Some encouraging words?”

Hideo raises an eyebrow at me in amusement. “Very well.” He takes a step closer to me. “I’m checking in because I miss hearing from you,” he says. “Does that help?”

I pause with my mouth open, my momentary bravado disappearing. Before I can reply, he bids me good night and disconnects our chat. Hideo’s image vanishes, replaced with empty air, but not before I get one last glimpse at his face, his eyes still on me.

? ? ? ? ?

THAT NIGHT, I dream that Hideo and I are back at Sound Museum Vision, except we’re not in the middle of the dance floor. Instead, we’re upstairs, tucked in some dark corner of the balcony overlooking the space, and he has me pushed against the wall. He’s kissing me hard.

I startle awake from the dream, flustered and irritated with myself.

His words are still ringing in my thoughts when the day comes for Ren to go into the Dark World. As the others get ready to grab lunch, I lock my door and log in to Warcross.

Instead of heading into the usual game, I bring up a hovering keyboard and type in a series of extra commands, my fingers tapping against the floor. The room flickers, and suddenly it goes dark, leaving me suspended in complete blackness.

I hold my breath. I visit the Dark World often enough, but no matter how many times I go, I’ll never get used to the suffocating black that descends over my eyes before I can enter.

Finally, horizontal red lines appear in my vision, lines that—when I zoom in—turn into code. It fills my vision, page after page, until it finally hits the bottom and gives me a blinking cursor. I type in a few more commands, and a new ream of code fills my view.

Then, suddenly, the dark red code vanishes, and I’m standing in the middle of a gritty city’s streets, my typical [null] name hanging over my head. Other darkened figures bustle past, none of them paying any attention to me. I stand underneath a series of endless, glowing neon signs running along the buildings overhead. They illuminate me in different colors.