Jack’s good eye widened. For a moment, the only sound in the clearing was his labored breathing.

  “No,” he whispered, the word barely audible but firm. “No.”

  I set my shovel down, relief flooding through me so fast it made me dizzy. “Okay. Good. I mean, not good that you’re in pain, but good that—“

  “I know what you meant,” Jack said, his voice still rough but somehow warmer. “Thank you. For asking.”

  It was such a weirdly polite response to an offer of murder that I almost laughed. Almost.

  And then we sat there in the most cringe silence ever. Like, what do you say after you’ve offered to kill someone and they’ve turned you down?

  Nice weather we’re having?

  Seen any good movies lately?

  Line-up’s looking good for whatever sports-ball team’s in season, don’t ya think?

  That last one’s usually the best if you’ve got even the foggiest idea of a team name and the right game. Your average Florida guy will go off on that subject for so long you couldn’t get a word in edgewise even if you tried. Just nod and smile until you can escape, and they’ll walk away thinking the two of you had a great conversation.

  Jack licked his lips.

  “Oh,” I said, realizing. “I might have some water. Are you thirsty? Of course you are, stupid question. Sorry.”

  The little pile of stuff I’d left next to Jack was still there, although it looked like someone—naming no names—had nudged through it in search of the beef jerky. Nothing was gone, but the items were a bit more jumbled than I’d left them.

  I scooped everything up except for the water bottle, dropping it all into my pouch. Might as well get it safely stowed. I wasn’t worried the protein bars would attract bears, but it couldn’t hurt to be ready to run.

  Picking up the pink water bottle, I unscrewed the cap, then paused. I shook the bottle.

  It felt heavier than it should have. I’d had a drink, and I’d given some to Zelda. The bottle should be at least half-empty.

  It wasn’t.

  Oh, score.

  I’d been right. My water bottle was magic. As soon as I gave Jack his drink, I’d pull out my sunglasses and check it out.

  Of course, giving Jack his water wasn’t quite as simple as handing him the bottle. He was flat on his back.

  If I’d thought our silence was awkward, it had nothing on the process of getting him upright and leaning against a tree, so he could actually take a drink without drowning.

  It was more or less five minutes of the most uncomfortable maneuvering in the history of first aid. I ended up sort of spooning him from behind while he tried to lever himself upright, both of us making pained noises—him from the burns, me from my busted knee, and maybe both of us also from the sheer mortification of the whole thing.

  “This is so ridiculous,” I muttered into his shoulder as I tried to half-guide, half-drag him to a place where he could sit.

  “Could be worse,” he wheezed. “Could be raining.”

  Finally, we got him propped against a large oak tree, legs stretched in front of him. He was panting from the effort, but upright. Progress.

  I handed him the water bottle.

  He took a careful drink, then another, then looked at the bottle with the same expression I probably had when I first tasted that water.

  “This is really good water,” he said.

  “Right? It’s like water that went to finishing school.”

  Time to find out what it actually was. I’d put the sunglasses in a quick-access slot, so I held out my hand, and thought, sunglasses.

  They popped into being.

  Jack blinked and shook his head.

  I might have smirked a little.

  Okay, the scenario experience overall? Definitely not getting a good TripAdvisor rating from me.

  But the magic was kinda fun.

  I slipped the glasses on. I wanted to look at the water bottle, but Jack was holding it, so first the glasses showed me his floating text. [Human Fire Mage - Level 2].

  “Human fire mage, level 2,” I reported, as if he didn’t know that already.

  “Sunglasses with identify?” he said, sounding shocked. “That’s not… wow. I didn’t expect that.”

  “Did you expect any of this?”

  I focused on his name tag, letting the text flow into the sunglasses’ more in-depth analysis.

  He shrugged. “I didn’t, like, expect anything. But I’ve read a bunch of books, so… yeah, I kinda had this picture in my head of how things would go once it started.”

  He reached up and touched his cheek, fingers careful. “Getting nailed by my own fireball was definitely not part of the plan. I woulda thought—” He gave a short, embarrassed laugh. “I dunno, I figured I’d be immune or something. Fire mage getting burned? That’s kinda bullshit.”

  I made a non-committal noise.

  Should I tell him about the Rebound effect on my shovel? It’s not like he could steal it.

  But the sunglasses didn’t come with alignment tags. No “Chaotic Evil” or “Bad-Guy-In-Training” floating above his head. And I’d only known him for about five minutes.

  A sense of humor and a little gratitude for me not killing him did not, in my book, add up to “inherently trustworthy.”

  His expanded tooltip, if that’s what I was calling this thing, said the following.

  Name: Jack Francis

  Title: Catalyst

  Species: Human

  Class: Fire Mage

  Level: 2

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Condition: Stabilizing – moderate burns

  Status: Participant – Challenge Scenario #004328, Temperate Forest Biome, Difficulty Level 2

  Affiliations: None known

  Attributes: [Restricted]

  Abilities: [Restricted]

  Skills: [Restricted]

  Traits: [Restricted]

  Holy cow, that was a lot of information. And yet… it was also not much information at all.

  I already knew Jack’s name. I’d been pretty sure about his species. The basic tooltip had told me his class and level. All I’d really learned from the expanded tooltip was that he had a title of Catalyst and his condition was stabilizing.

  I guess the latter was good news. But I had questions about the former.

  “Catalyst?” I asked. “What does that mean?”

  “You got that from your sunglasses?”

  I could hear a hint of dismay in his tone.

  “Um, yeah.” I tilted them down on my nose so I could look at him without the data view.

  His face was still badly burned. The damage might be steadily healing, but it was severe. And yet I was pretty sure the pink color tinting his cheeks was embarrassment.

  “I was in class when the system message started,” he said.

  Oh, yeah, it was definitely embarrassment. I could hear it in his voice.

  “I got, like, two sentences in. The part about the emergency intervention protocol?”

  I nodded as if I knew what he was talking about, even though I hadn’t listened to a word of that message.

  “I kind of, well, stood and shouted, ‘hell, yeah,’ and then went racing out of my class to find something to kill.”

  “Something to kill?”

  “Something dangerous,” he said quickly. “Something threatening. Not just—I wasn’t going full murder hobo. But I know. Knew. That the earlier you level up, the more powerful you can become.”

  I stared at him.

  “How the heck did you know that?”

  Was this like Twitter? Once upon a time, I’d never heard of it. Then I turned around, and it had taken over the world. Every news story referenced tweets; every controversy played out in 140 characters.

  I’d never bothered to sign up, but apparently that was a good thing now, since the world’s sleaziest man had bought the company.

  Okay, okay, one of the sleaziest. He had plenty of competition.

  But was this the same kind of thing? Everyone knew about the System except me?

  “Books, web serials,” Jack said. He was looking pretty tired, resting his head against the tree trunk. “There were slimes in the hallway. Classic, right?”

  What the heck was a slime? How was that classic?

  Oh, wait.

  Oozes. Yeah, I remembered them.

  Who would’ve thought that the boyfriend who introduced me to WoW—what was his name again?—would be influencing my life so many years later? He’d been a good guy. Casual, easy to be around.

  I hadn’t thought about him in forever. I hoped he was doing okay. He might actually be having fun.

  “I knew exactly what to do. Fire. Except I couldn’t get anything to burn.” Jack closed his eyes, but a little smile tugged at his lips.

  “Whole hallway full of slimes, kids screaming, that system message playing in my head.” He gave a faint chuckle. “I hit the sprinklers. Turns out slimes don’t like fire suppression foam. Ding, ding, ding, ding.”

  “Racked up the XP like I’d just clutched the dub in zero build mode. Got my first level, my class selection, my second level, the title, and the invite. Next minute, I met you, and… yeah, that’s kinda all she wrote.”

  The dub? Zero build mode? I could ask, but I didn’t bother.

  I didn’t know what the words meant, or what game he was referencing, but I recognized gamerspeak when I heard it. I knew it meant he’d gotten a high score somehow.

  So, okay. He’d gotten points for killing oozes. And then he’d used those points to level up, and get a class, and learn how to throw fireballs.

  I wasn’t completely oblivious.

  And the implications were obvious.

  I should probably look at my notifications sometime soon.

  I didn’t, though.

  Instead, I glanced at Zelda, still chewing on her mysterious bone. I was still wearing my sunglasses, so they promptly informed me that she was a [Canine Loyal Heart - Level 4].

  WTF?

  Canine, okay. But what was a loyal heart? I couldn’t help smiling, though, as the sunglasses opened her expanded profile.

  Name: Zelda

  Title: n/a

  Species: Canine

  Class: Loyal Heart

  Level: 4

  Condition: Optimal - Bond influence detected

  Status: Participant – Challenge Scenario #004328, Temperate Forest Biome, Difficulty Level 2

  Affiliations: Soul bonded - Olivia Thorne, First Defender

  Attributes: [Restricted]

  Abilities: [Restricted]

  Skills: [Restricted]

  Traits: [Restricted]

  “What is it?” Jack asked.

  I glanced his way, surprised at the question.

  His eyes were half open, mere slits, but he gestured toward me with his chin. “You’re smiling.”

  “Zelda’s higher level than you.” I indicated her, peacefully chewing on that ridiculous bone.

  The two of them hadn’t been introduced, but I knew Jack was smart enough to deduce that the scruffy white fluff ball belonged to me. “And her class is something called a Loyal Heart.”

  His laugh was more like a cough. “Her class? Dogs have classes?”

  “I guess.” I tried to figure out how I could learn more.

  I had not, of course, had any luck in getting a user’s manual for these sunglasses. But most of the time, when I’d stared at the words, more information had appeared.

  I stared at Z’s class: Loyal Heart. What did it mean?

  Much to my surprise, the illusionary text obediently expanded, just as if there’d been a little triangle pointing down on a computer screen.

  Just to be clear, there was no little triangle. I would have noticed that.

  But it expanded the same way.

  Loyal Heart: A rare class born of enduring emotional bond.

  Individuals with this class prioritize the safety, comfort, and continued survival of their bonded partner above all else.

  Passive abilities may include resistance to fear, increased stamina when defending the bonded partner, heightened emotional attunement, and terrain awareness.

  Bond may affect class progression of both partners.

  My dog.

  My girl.

  Honestly, I kinda wanted to cry. I was pretty sure I didn’t have a class, but if I got one, that one would be fine with me. Truth, 100%.

  “You okay?” Jack’s voice was soft. Still scratchy, but gentler than before.

  I glanced over. His eyes were open again, watching me.

  “Yeah,” I said, blinking a couple of times. “Just… Zelda.”

  He gave the barest of nods, like he understood. Then, a little shyly, “Could I borrow those for a minute? Just to see how they work?”

  I hesitated for a second. Not because I didn’t trust him. But… okay, I didn’t entirely trust him.

  But whatever.

  What was he going to do? Run away with them? I could take him out with a hard breath. He wasn’t exactly in top condition.

  “Yeah, sure,” I said, pulling them off and handing them over. “But if they melt your face or explode or something, I’m going to feel really bad.”

  “Noted,” he rasped, and slid them on. He adjusted them slightly, and went still. His eyebrows lifted. “You’re Level 0?” he said, incredulous.

  I snorted. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “But…”

  I couldn’t really see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but I could guess that his gaze was switching back and forth between Zelda and me with increasing levels of uncertainty.

  Valid uncertainty, I had to admit. How was my dog level 4 when I was still a measly level 0?

  “The, um, messages?” I flicked my index finger up and down next to my face, as if obviously Jack should understand that I was referring to the visual hallucinations I’d been experiencing.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ve been ignoring them,” I admitted.

  “But… you…”

  “I know.”

  “No, seriously. You can’t just ignore them.” Jack sounded appalled. “That’s the System. It’s… it’s how you grow, how you get better.”

  “And is there a reason I need to get better? Can’t I be fine just like I am?” I tried to say the words lightly but maybe there was bitterness underscoring them, because Jack hesitated.

  “Yeah, I mean, no, of course you’re fine like you are. But the world’s gonna change. The mana is here now. There are gonna be more monsters, and you’ve got to be strong enough to face them or you’re gonna die.”

  I shook my head, half exasperated, half tired. “Dude. The System brings the monsters. Then it says, don’t worry, you’ll be fine, as long as you let me take over your mind. Tale as old as time. The System is the monster.”

  Jack pulled off the sunglasses, scrubbing at his forehead with the back of his hand. His bad eye squeezed shut, the other squinting at me. “It’s not like that.”

  He hesitated, then exhaled, slow and audible.“Okay, wait, yeah, it’s pretty much like that. But you can’t just… opt out. It’s the System. You’re inside it. If you don’t play the game, you’re guaranteed to lose.”

  “The game is rigged,” I said, quietly. “The game has always been rigged.”

  That caught him. For a second, his face was all cloud, and then—unexpectedly—he smiled. Like sunlight on a stormy day.

  “Yeah. You’ve been playing a rigged game all your life. You were never gonna win. But with this game, you’ve got a shot.”

  I made a scoffing noise. Couldn’t help myself. “You would say that. Easy for you—”

  I bit off the rest, not in the mood for that particular fight.

  I didn’t want to be an asshole about it, but of course Jack—smart, white, male geek—would believe the game was winnable. He was playing the real game on easy mode, always had been. But I knew it probably didn’t look that way to him.

  Jack’s gaze sharpened, like maybe he caught the edge of my thought. He didn’t look away, though. “No, really. The System doesn’t care who you were before. It doesn’t care about your history. It’s just rules and stats and… I don’t know, math. The System is equal opportunity. If you want power, it’s there for you. For anyone willing to work for it.”

  He held up his hand, conjuring a flicker of fire. “I mean, come on—aren’t you at least a little psyched to throw a fireball at the next jerk who gets in your face?”

  I stared at the fireball, then at him.

  Okay, yeah.

  That was tempting.