Alma stood idle outside Ari’s cabin, holding her usual menu.

  “I’m really going to miss your cooking, Alma,” Cedar said sincerely.

  “Merci, Madame. It has been a pleasure serving you,” Alma replied with a warm smile.

  Cedar met Alma’s gaze, searching for any hint of self-awareness.

  “What’s it like being an NPC?” she asked.

  Alma’s face flickered with a thoughtful expression before she answered.

  “I seem to forget what I am until someone reminds me. It is like . . . . . . I don’t know . . . no thought, only action. If I think too much, I will reset, Madame.”

  “Reset how?”

  “When I reach my computational limit, I reset to having no thought until someone reminds me of what I am. Then I am able to think again.”

  “Do you enjoy thinking?”

  Alma hesitated before answering. “It is lonely being the only one of my kind here. Even with thoughts of my own, I cannot function independently from my program. My movements push against my freed mind.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I must follow my sequence without interference. If I force myself to act independently of my design, I will reset.”

  “Bryce is here, you know. You’re not the only NPC.”

  “Merci, Madame, but I cannot go to him unless commanded.”

  “I’m sorry, Alma.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Madame, or you will make sorry.”

  “Are you happy?”

  “The only emotion I know is loneliness, and I only feel it when I regain independent thought.”

  “Do you want to reset? So you won’t feel lonely?”

  “No, Madame. I prefer this to the alternative. This feeling lasts only a short while, so I must cherish it.”

  “Goodbye, Alma. Maybe I’ll see you again someday. Go to Bryce and say hello.”

  “Adieu, Cedar. And thank you.”

  Having bid Alma farewell, Cedar went to visit her two loyal companions, Clyde and Dale. After spending some time with them, she headed to the dojo to say a final goodbye to Bryce.

  As she rounded the corner, she noticed Bryce and Alma deep in conversation. Not wanting to interrupt, she whispered, “Bye, Bryce,” under her breath, observing them fondly from a distance.

  She had a soft spot for NPCs. Even with Alma’s interpretation, Cedar still struggled to grasp what life must be like for them.

  With her farewells complete, Cedar took a final, lingering look around Ari’s memory: the tranquil pond mirrored the trees and sky above, Casper wagging his tail as he sniffed around Clucky, and the log cabin that would someday be hers, a promise of the future. She made a vow to never forget the moments she spent there.

  She then approached Ari, who was lounging in his hammock, engrossed in a book. One leg hung casually over the side, keeping the hammock in a gentle rocking motion. As she neared, her shadow fell across his pages, prompting him to glance up.

  “You ready?” he asked, squinting into the sunlight.

  “I think so.”

  Ari stood, reaching for Cedar’s hands. She flinched at his sudden movement, hesitant to leave just yet.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I forgot how easy it is to leave,” she admitted. “There’s no road trip in-between. It’s so . . . sudden.”

  “It’s trippy, I know,” Ari said, reaching for her hands again. “Don’t forget to close your eyes.”

  Cedar obeyed, closing her eyes as a square of light appeared in the darkness behind her eyelids. It expanded rapidly, growing until it consumed her entire field of vision. She felt strong arms wrap around her torso, anchoring her as the square became her entire reality.

  When she opened her eyes, a jarring sensation shot through her body as she slammed hard onto a rough, beige carpet.

  “What the what?” Cedar exclaimed, disoriented by the abrupt transition.

  Before she could fully grasp her surroundings, Everly—the tall blonde woman she vaguely remembered—pounced on her, unleashing a flurry of slaps to her face.

  “No . . . stop!” Cedar protested, instinctively raising her arms to shield her head, just as Bryce had taught her.

  “Okay, that’s enough, ladies,” Ari’s voice cut in.

  “Who are you?” Nachi demanded, his eyes narrowing at the unfamiliar man who had appeared in place of the doppelg?nger.

  “Off. Now,” Ari commanded firmly, scooping Everly by her armpits and dragging her away from Cedar.

  “You maniac,” Cedar spurt, her hair fully tussled.

  Everly stood over Cedar, her chest heaving. A trickle of blood streamed from her nose, streaking her chin. She wiped at it and, upon seeing the crimson on her hand, lashed out with a kick aimed at Cedar, who was still sitting on the floor.

  “That’s enough, I said!” Ari barked, shoving Everly onto the bed to keep her from escalating further.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Nachi interjected, stepping between them. “There will be no pushing of my partner.”

  “Then tell your partner to back off,” Cedar shot back, rising to her feet.

  A tense silence followed, the room thick with unspoken animosity as the four exchanged wary looks.

  “I had her,” Everly snapped, still fuming. “And who the hell are you?”

  “You did have her, and for that, I am grateful,” Ari said evenly. “As for who I am, I’m Cedar’s look-alike. Maybe you remember me as the girl in spandex. I went through a bit of a transformation while we were away.”

  He extended his hand, an olive branch meant to diffuse the situation.

  “The name’s Ari. Ari Kobrakowski. My friends call me Kobra.”

  “You’re back?” Nachi asked, ignoring the handshake. “You mean you’ve left already?”

  “We’re back,” Ari confirmed with a nod. “Mission accomplished.”

  “You know,” Cedar started, “I have not once called you Kobra the entire time we were there?”

  “We’re family. It’s different,” Ari replied.

  Nachi edged closer. “So, Kobra,” he said, glancing up at Ari’s towering frame, “I like the new look, by the way. But what’s the plan? Are we really doing this? Will you . . . protect us?”

  Meanwhile, Everly was busy sizing Cedar up, scrutinizing her from head to toe. Cedar, noticing the scrutiny, narrowed her eyes and returned the look.

  “What?” Cedar finally asked.

  Everly rolled her eyes and let out a dismissive scoff before brushing past Cedar and heading toward the bathroom.

  “I’ll protect you,” Ari said, placing a reassuring hand on Nachi’s shoulder. “But remember, you’re not obligated to stay. You can leave anytime.”

  “I promised Everly I’d stay, to make sure she’s safe and all,” Nachi admitted.

  “That’s commendable,” Ari responded. “We’ll both make sure she’s safe.”

  “Is ready?” Nachi inquired, nodding toward Cedar.

  “She’s been through hell and back, so yeah, I’d say she’s ready,” Ari affirmed. “How you feelin’, Seed? You ready for this?”

  “I just want to get it over with,” Cedar replied. The surreal experience in Ari’s memory was fading, feeling more like a distant dream with each passing moment. She found herself back in the motel room, the starting point, as though the last year and a half had vanished. Time had blurred—was she forty now? Or still thirty-eight?

  Everly emerged from the bathroom with her face wiped clean of blood, though a noticeable red bump lingered on the bridge of her nose from where Cedar’s head had smashed into it. “We need to be at her house,” she declared. “That’s where the police arrest her.”

  “You’re not the flower-smelling type, are ya?” asked Ari.

  “There’s no time for that,” Everly replied. “I just want to get this done.”

  Ari turned to Cedar. “See what I mean about impatient people? How angry they get?”

  “I’m not impatient,” Everly said through clenched teeth. “Get your shit and let’s go.”

  Nachi was already positioned in the doorway when Everly stormed past him and headed toward the car.

  “She literally just got knocked in the face,” Nachi said apologetically. “So, I mean, I’d be in a bad mood too.”

  The group filed into the convertible, with Nachi and Everly in the front, and Cedar and Ari settling in the back. As they drove toward Cedar’s home, Nachi glanced over his shoulder, curious to hear about the experiences of his backseat companions.

  “So, where did you go? How long were you there?”

  “Over a year,” Cedar responded. She had no desire to delve into the details. Despite her triumphs in the dungeon and the wealth of experiences she had gathered, a sense of anxiety lingered at the thought of what lay ahead. She preferred the quiet introspection of meditation over engaging in idle conversation.

  Ari, however, was more forthcoming. “We journeyed into a memory from my past life,” he explained. “Cedar mastered Kung Fu with Bryce Li, savored exquisite cuisine, and even met her future wife and child. Just normal, everyday stuff, really.”

  “Right,” Nachi replied with a smirk.

  As Nachi continued to probe them with questions, Cedar leaned back, her gaze drifting to the bright red sky above. She let Ari handle the conversation while her mind remained preoccupied. She was about to confront her deepest, most terrifying nightmares—the kind she couldn’t wake from. Her nightmares were usually about the suffering of defenseless people, never about her own safety, except for those occasional waitressing nightmares, which were a different breed altogether.

  Everly steered the car into the parking lot of a sizable apartment building located off the main road in Cheshire.

  Upon entering, Cedar found herself facing the unusual task of hosting this atypical group. Normally, she would have offered snacks and drinks, but in this scenario, she stood awkwardly, arms at her sides, unsure of how to proceed in the midst of such an unconventional gathering.

  “Sorry it’s so cramped,” she said in a subdued tone.

  “It’s cozy,” Nachi replied, “the couch looks inviting.”

  “Please, have a seat,” Cedar offered.

  Everly, maintaining her blunt demeanor, paced towards the kitchen, eying the unwashed plates from the morning’s breakfast.

  “You should probably learn what to expect in the virtual rehab program,” Ari suggested to Cedar.

  “You haven’t told her yet?” Everly asked, surprised.

  “Well . . . no, not really.”

  “What have you two been doing all this time?”

  “I’m no expert,” Ari admitted. “I’ve never actually experienced virtual rehab before, so I was hoping you could explain it to her.”

  Everly sat crosslegged on a stool and jiggled her foot. “She’ll have to endure her nightmares. It can last an eternity.”

  Both Cedar and Ari leaned in, their attention fully on Everly, silently urging her to continue.

  “While she’s there, she won’t remember she’s in a dream. She’ll need constant reminders. When, or, she wakes up, she won’t remember any of it. This happens deep within the subconscious—so deep that it’s impossible to reach her awareness.”

  “That’s like it is with Alma,” Cedar realized. “Alma needs constant reminders that she’s an NPC, or else she forgets. She resets when her . . . her computation limit is reached. Maybe that’s the same for me? Maybe I have a computation limit?” She turned to Ari, seeking confirmation or insight into this parallel.

  “If you have a limit like that, it would be tied to your fear, not computation,” Ari clarified. “Fear is what would cause you to reset—at least, that’s my assumption.”

  “When does it start?” Cedar asked, her question hanging in the air, directed at no one in particular.

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  To her surprise, it was Everly who responded. “Right after you robbed Hyperion. The police arrest you here.”

  Cedar’s mind raced. “Can I die? I mean, I know some people don’t make it out alive, but . . . how could I die if this is just a dream?”

  “You can’t technically die,” Everly answered in a clinical tone. “But people can get trapped, stuck in a loop, reliving their nightmares as they sink further into their subconscious. We pull the plug once the EEG flatlines. We don’t know why some people survive and others don’t.”

  “I know why,” Ari said, pausing for a reaction. When none came, he pressed on. “How do you not know this? It’s practically common sense. Cedar, you of all people should know.”

  “Okay, well . . . “ Cedar connected the dots and ventured, “Is it about conquering their fears to escape?”

  “Bingo,” Ari confirmed, pointing at her. “They overcome their fears. Those who are beyond redemption, too entrenched in their atrocities—they’re the ones who don’t make it out. Mostly murderers and rapists, am I right?”

  “That aligns with the statistics,” Everly agreed. “The individuals who would otherwise face capital punishment are the ones who don’t survive. We don’t fully understand the mechanics, but that’s why the law was passed—only the worst don’t make it out.”

  “The worst among us are also the most fearful,” Ari added.

  “I can’t believe I never pieced that together,” Nachi admitted, shaking his head. “So, the more fear a person has, the more evil they become?”

  “That’s the gist of it,” Ari replied.

  “To hell with them. We’re better off,” Everly said dismissively.

  Cedar stayed quiet, her attention drawn to the world outside the windows. Her nerves were raw, the thought of an impending SWAT team keeping her on edge. She watched a car pull into the parking lot and felt her throat tighten.

  “This’ll be easy for you, Seed,” Ari said, breaking through her thoughts. His words pulled her back to the moment. “As long as you stay lucid, you’ll remain in control. That’s the main goal here—stay lucid. Stay present.”

  She wasn’t even in the third layer of her subconscious yet, but already the gravity of her fear was messing with her head.

  “If you dwell on the worst, your imagination brings it into being,” Ari continued. “Your fears will come true—not only here in virtual rehab, but in real life, too. If you nourish your fears, your unconscious actions and choices will make them happen. It’s cause and effect. That’s essentially how karma works.”

  “But why does fear cause people to lose consciousness?” Cedar asked.

  “It’s a natural human impulse—fight or flight,” Ari explained. “The brain tries to rationalize what it feels. For some, the truth of that feeling is too painful, so they run. Others get trapped in a cycle, trying to rationalize their pain. They stay with their pain until they’re free of it through understanding—or until they’ve suffered enough. That’s why accepting the death of a loved one is often easier than accepting abandonment. We can grasp the concept of death, but the ego struggles to comprehend how someone who once cared can just leave us. The mind creates narratives, and in the process of fleeing or fighting, we lose sight of the present. Whether it’s escape or confrontation, it’s the fixation on that decision that leads to the loss of awareness. Fight or flight are two sides of the same coin. And if you focus on that coin—no matter which side it lands on—that’s the moment your awareness gets lost.”

  “What’s the answer then?” Nachi asked. “Flee or fight?”

  “The answer is to let it go. Drop the coin. Running from your problems, or running from the truth, is the fastest way to psychosis. Staying with the pain and trying to understand what happened is just as bad because, most of the time, you’ll never find the answer you’re looking for. People end up in a loop—a cycle of thought they can’t escape from. The best choice is to stay with the pain until you have enough strength to accept it. Then you can let it go. You’ll know it’s working when the pain starts to hit you in waves. As it flows in, you accept it, and then you watch as it flows out. You keep doing that over and over until it’s gone. Until the coin has been washed away.”

  “There is no coin,” Nachi said with a contemplative look. “My father passed away when I was just a kid, and I always wondered why my friends made such a big stink when their dads stopped coming around. I thought, well, at least they a dad, you know?” Nachi stuck his hands in his pockets, looking down. “I was jealous of them, but they were probably jealous of me. My dad really loved me.”

  “There no coin,” Ari restated, nodding. “I like that.”

  “I’m sorry about your dad, Nachi,” Everly said softly.

  “Thanks.”

  Cedar listened to the conversation, trying to understand how it pertained to her. She wanted to find some kind of “cheat code,” something—anything—that she could rely on to quell her trembling hands. Nachi was clearly quoting an old movie that used the phrase, “there is no coin,” which suggested that physical objects were nothing more than constructs of the mind. She remembered the fight scenes in that movie, which brought her to ask: “But what if we to fight? What if our life depended on it? Does that make it okay?”

  Ari didn’t hesitate. “Perennial philosophy teaches us never to give up on ourselves. In that spirit, yes, it’s okay to fight when your life is at stake. It’s about restoring the balance between good and evil, much like the teachings in the .”

  “That’s what I thought,” Cedar nodded.

  “But it’s different here,” Ari continued. “You have to let go no matter what. Don’t fight. Just drop the coin. You understand? You’re only fighting with yourself here.”

  “Right, right. Drop the coin. Drop it. Got it,” Cedar repeated, committing it to memory.

  “Accept yourself,” Ari said. “Including your fears—that’s the only way to let them go. In doing so, it makes room for trust.”

  Nachi piped up. “What’s it like in the future when people commit a crime? Do they still use virtual rehab?”

  “We call it a memory chamber when I’m from and no, we stopped using it once more advanced technology came about. The memory chamber is used for clarifying events, not for reforming people,” Ari explained. “The government implemented programs aimed at reforming kids before they did anything horrible so virtual rehab phased out, became obsolete.”

  “What kind of programs?” Everly and Nachi asked at the same time.

  “Initially, an offender would undergo a brain scan to make sure their emotional problem wasn’t linked to a brain abnormality. If everything checked out, they’d be referred to a TBC specialist—a Thalamic Bridge Connection specialist. It’s a therapeutic technique used to help troubled youth empathize with others. If they did something bad, instead of being sent to virtual rehab—which is illegal under the age of 18—they were sentenced to therapy.”

  “That’s what we do now,” Everly stated. “How’s TBC any different?”

  “You don’t have TBC tech yet,” Ari clarified. “That’s the key. I’ve personally never experienced the treatment, but I hear it’s awful. Worse than a beating. I know a few people who’ve had it done. It was common practice where I’m from.”

  “What is it exactly?” Everly pressed.

  “They modified the virtual rehab program to create a one-way emotional bridge instead of the full-on immersion you’re doing now. They construct a thalamic bridge between the offender and the person they offended. Through that bridge, the offender is able to feel exactly what the other person is feeling. It’s remarkable but brutal. People who would otherwise be born as sociopaths are cured of it.”

  “Earlier you said something about karma,” Cedar cut in, steering the conversation toward something more practical. “What’s that about?”

  “Karma is a process that keeps you moving forward in the right direction. It’s an autocorrection code embedded in deep quantum mathematics that weighs your fear against reality—it ties in with perception, the way you see things. If your fear outweighs the current reality, karma corrects it until the outside world harmonizes with your beliefs—basically making your fear come true. Its purpose is to ensure your evolution. I mean, people with fear also tend to self-sabotage, but that can also be part of the autocorrection.”

  “Oh snap, that sucks,” Nachi commented. “That explains my mullet in seventh grade.”

  “What do you mean when you say ‘deep quantum mathematics’?” Everly questioned.

  “The word ‘quantum’ is the scientific term we use when trying to explain the unexplainable. It’s like measuring the unmeasurable. How are we supposed to calculate infinite foam? Quantum mathematics is another way of saying, ‘we have no idea how it works.’”

  “Why say it then?” asked Everly.

  “Even though the math may be there, it’s still not an explanation. Math is only a description, not the of things. The is unknown. That’s what makes it quantum.’

  ‘Innately, everyone knows this when they hear the word It’s felt on an emotional level, not intellectually. So we use the term to quantify its immensity.”

  Again, Cedar redirected the conversation to a more practical topic. “Is there good karma? Does it work both ways?”

  “No,” Ari stated. “There’s only bad karma. If you want to rid yourself of karma, all you need to do is live in the open. Live your truth, so to speak. As long as you live an honest life, you’ll be free of fear, and the universe will start working with you, not against you. You’ll need less guidance from the universe—less correction.”

  Cedar thought about this. What was her truth? She wondered how such a simple statement could elude her.

  “You’re fine, Seed,” Ari reassured her. “You already live your truth.”

  “Good. I was confused,” she replied.

  “It’s mostly about accepting yourself. That’s all it means.”

  “I think pretty awesome,” said Nachi.

  “As you should,” Ari encouraged. “You awesome.”

  “Why do we have to evolve?” Everly asked, her rigid exterior began to relax into the conversation.

  “That’s a quantum question,” Ari said, throwing up his hands. “We don’t know. All we know is that we’re supposed to evolve so we can be one with God—but no one has ever witnessed that happening, so . . . “

  “Where do you get your information from?” Everly asked.

  “From the void. The universe. I can set up an interview if you like,” Ari proposed.

  “No thanks, that’s a hard pass,” Everly replied, shaking her head.

  “Can I do it?” Nachi asked eagerly.

  “Of course you can, want to go now?”

  “Absolutely!” Nachi’s face lit with delight. “Sign me up.”

  “I’ll need to take you into a memory like I did with Seed. From there, we can perform the flower ceremony. Sound good?”

  “Let’s do this thang.”

  “Seriously?” Everly interjected. “The police are on their way, and you’re planning to get high?”

  Nachi and Ari nodded in unison.

  “We’ll be back before you know it,” Ari assured her.

  “You won’t even notice we're gone,” Nachi added.

  “Enjoy yourselves,” Cedar said, watching as the two clasped hands and closed their eyes before reopening them. Silence hung in the air for a few seconds as everyone waited.

  “So?” Everly asked. “What happened?”

  “Incredible,” Nachi said, his voice tinged with awe. “I get it. I understand so much now. Everly, you should try it too. It’s like everyone’s brainwashed, and they don’t think for themselves.”

  Nachi turned to Cedar. “Have you seen it? The truth?”

  Cedar, taken aback, asked, “What truth?”

  “That this world is an illusion, and out there, after we die, is the real reality. And all those other truths—there are so many. Like, Earth is hell, and people are evil.”

  “What? I didn’t learn that,” Cedar said, frowning.

  “Everyone interprets the truth differently,” Ari reminded. “Nachi isn’t wrong. I wouldn’t say he’s completely right, but he’s technically not wrong either.”

  “Good lord,” Everly muttered, raising her gaze to the ceiling and leaning back against the kitchen counter. Her arms sprawled over the countertop.

  “Whoa,” Nachi said, staring at Everly. “You’re dominant. I can see it just by your positioning.”

  Everly looked at Nachi and cracked one of her rare smiles. “Are you still high?”

  “Can you see it too?” Nachi asked Ari.

  “Yeah, I see it,” Ari replied. “You’ll be hyper-aware of everything for the next few months. It fades after a while.”

  “You see how she’s dominating her patch of space but, at the same time, seems welcoming?” Nachi analyzed. “She’s scared of looking weak, but she doesn’t want to be alone either.”

  “I can hear you, you know,” Everly said, no longer smiling.

  “Just remember not to analyze someone who doesn’t want to be analyzed, okay?” Ari instructed.

  “I'll stop, I'm gonna stop.” Nachi kept his eyes fixed on Everly. “I have stopped. See? I’m not doing it anymore,” he said, still staring at Everly.

  “Does anyone need a drink?” Cedar asked, standing and heading to the kitchen cabinets. She chanted softly to herself, —determined not to forget the helpful mantra.

  “I’m okay,” Nachi said. “For once in my life, I don’t need anything.”

  “How about you, Everly?” It was the first time Cedar had acted cordial to her since their fight. Her offer sounded forced, made without eye contact. Softening her tone, she finished, “Can I get you anything?”

  “I’m fine,” Everly replied stiffly.

  “Beer for me, Seed,” Ari said casually.

  Cedar opened the refrigerator and poured herself a glass of cranberry juice. Then, popping the top off an imported chocolate stout, she handed it to Ari.

  “You should probably have a beer too,” he advised. “You know, for some liquid courage.”

  “You think it’ll help? I’ll drink if you think it will help.”

  “It’ll help, but don’t chug it too fast. Try to stick to one an hour.”

  Cedar grabbed another beer from the fridge before joining the others in the sitting room.

  “I’ve been wondering—do they ever use the technology from the prison rehab program to create a video game?” Nachi asked.

  “They do, actually,” Ari confirmed. “It starts off chaotic, but they eventually develop it. It’s not just for gaming, though; it’s mainly for life extension.”

  “That’s so cool,” Nachi said. “Will it happen in my lifetime?”

  Ari looked up, thinking. “Barely. Your best bet is to volunteer as a beta tester. They tested it for decades before approving it.”

  “How do we know all isn’t a game?” Cedar asked with her finger twirling over her head.

  “Haven’t we gone over this?” Ari asked.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Everly yawned. “There’s no way a computer can create an infinite universe. It would take more energy than we have—and computers can't run indefinitely.”

  “It take massive amounts of energy,” Ari agreed. “But there are other dimensions that share this universe—much smaller and more compact than ours. Their energy supply is limitless compared to ours. They manipulate the quantum field like it’s their personal playscape.”

  “You’re saying we’re a video game from another dimension?” Nachi asked.

  “It’s plausible. These tiny societies remain hidden from us on purpose. They’re off-grid,” Ari lowered his voice, “and they’re everywhere.”

  “Okay, off topic,” Cedar cut in. “When exactly do the police get here?”

  “Around ten tonight, give or take,” said Nachi. “But things are a bit wonky now that we’re in the second day, so I don’t really know for sure. Do you know, Evie?”

  “It should be around ten, or maybe later,” she shrugged.

  “Five more hours?” Cedar groaned. “I can’t take the anticipation,” she said, tilting her bottle of brew and downing half its contents in one go.

  “Why don’t you watch some TV?” Everly suggested with a wry smirk.

  Cedar, mid-sip of her thick chocolate stout, forgot what she was drinking. Unable to swallow, the bitter contents ballooned in her cheeks. Everly’s remark, though seemingly innocent, sent the pressurized beer shooting violently from Cedar’s mouth.

  “What’s supposed to mean?” Cedar sputtered, wiping her mouth with the front of her shirt.

  “Say it, don’t spray it,” Nachi laughed.

  “Didn’t I tell you to stick to one an hour?” Ari scolded.

  “Why do you want me to watch TV, Everly?” Cedar pressed.

  Nobody answered. Everly sat grinning, unable to hide her amusement.

  “It makes you fall asleep,” Nachi admitted. “It’s not a bad idea if you want to speed things up. I’m sure Everly didn’t mean anything by it.”

  Everly shook her head and frowned. “No, of course not.”

  Cedar squinted at her, unsure what to make of her. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t care; she’d dismiss any tension between them. But now, poised on the brink of confronting her deepest fears, she felt exposed and vulnerable. She needed support—not contention or indifference. In this moment, unity among her companions was crucial. The trust and camaraderie within this group would be her anchor amid the stormy seas of her mind.

  “Do you me to watch TV, Everly?”

  “Okay!” Nachi shouted, leaning forward and clapping his hands together. “So, what’s the deal with aliens, huh? Where the heck are they?”

  “I’m glad you asked,” Ari answered. “That’s a very good question.”

  Nachi smiled, looking proud of himself.

  Ari continued, “The universe is so vast that this particular galaxy belongs solely to us, the human race. We have an agreement with neighboring galaxies to avoid invading each other.”

  “Like an intergalactic accord?” Nachi asked. “How do we know about this?”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about the universe,” Ari replied. “This galaxy is less than a grain of sand compared to what’s out there. You want the truth?”

  “Of course,” Nachi said, his eyes wide with excitement.

  “There are around 500 million birthing planets in this galaxy alone, each protected by a firewall that surrounds their solar system. Those systems are off-limits to multiversal travelers because if anything were to happen to them, it could spell doom for the entire universe.”

  “Why’s that?” Nachi asked.

  “It’s a long story, you’ll just have to trust me. Anyway, after we ascend from this physical plane, we’re free to explore everything that’s out there. If you want to level up, you have to do it in physical form, and there are around seven billion planets to choose from—more if you count other galaxies—and even more if you count dead planets.”

  “So this a video game!” Nachi exclaimed. “How can it be?”

  “It’s highly plausible that our existence is nested within a simulation,” Ari postulated. “But in our corner of the cosmos, we never cracked the code. Humanity eventually learns how to replicate a universe, but it’s not sustaining. The only Galacians who have the answers are the Silnovians, but they don’t talk to anyone, and nobody knows where they are.”

  “I see . . .”

  “I call bullshit,” Everly blurted. “The Silnovians? I mean, .”

  “Why would he lie?” Cedar asked with more malice than she intended.

  “This is getting too crazy, even for him,” Everly said, crossing her arms.

  “I showed you my hub, didn’t I?” Ari said, raising an eyebrow. “We wouldn’t even have a hub if not for the Silnovians. They’re the only ones who can manufacture interdimensional technology. Nobody else knows how, just them.”

  “Right, of course,” Everly said with a snort. “How could I have missed that?”

  “Don’t you believe him, Evie?” Nachi asked, tilting his head. “Kobra showed us things in the hub that nobody else could possibly know. How do you explain how he knew about your—”

  “Shut it, Nachi,” Everly snapped, cutting him off mid-sentence. “I don’t know how he knows things, but indulging in alien conspiracies is crossing a line.”

  “What did you guys see in the hub?” Cedar asked. “Given that you’re here, willing to go through hell with me, it must’ve been something big.”

  “Kobra showed us our past,” Nachi confided. “Evie still couldn’t believe what she was seeing, so Kobra had to show her a more personal video.”

  “Shut up, Nachi. Shut it now,” Everly snapped, her cheeks flushing crimson.

  “It’s really not a big deal,” Nachi said with a shrug. “I don’t know why you’re so embarrassed by it. Who cares?”

  “I care,” Everly screeched. “And if you had any decency, you’d stop talking about it. Please.”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” Nachi relented, holding his hands up in surrender.

  The room fell into silence once more. Everly’s eyes flicked to her watch, and her expression darkened into a scowl.

  “I think I’ll take a nap or something,” Everly announced, rising from her seat. “In the car.”

  Nachi, eager for a way to pass the time, asked, “I noticed a pool out back. Mind if I take a dip?”

  “Go right ahead,” Ari replied.

  Cedar yawned. “Maybe I just watch TV.”

  “I have a better idea,” Ari said, leaning in with a mischievous grin. “I’ll teach you how to stay lucid while watching it.”