"I'm home." I called out wearily from the hall after opening the front door. It felt odd – it's been a while since I had anyone to call out to. Maybe not since I left my parents place.

I could see the light from the living room, and heard a distracted "Welcome back, Mai." Video game music at low volume floated into the hallway.

Entering the brightly lit room, I saw the refection of the tv screen against the pitch black exterior windows. Iter was leaning forward, controller in hand, entirely focused on the images moving briskly across the screen. I sighed and dropped into the lounge chair. Annoyance at Iter's disinterest warred briefly with my fatigue, but fatigue won.

It was well past midnight. It had seemed like an eternity waiting for the ambulance and police to arrive at Jon's house, but everything was a blur after that. I remember getting up to meet the responders at the door, and showing them to where Jon lay. People came and left, and we tried to stay out of the way, unsure of what to do and mostly ignored. Eventually we were moved outside by police officers who separated us and took our individual statements. There wasn't much to say.

We were contacted by Jon around 6pm. He wanted to talk about our work. We were recently laid off from the same company. Complyze. I don't know the corporate phone number off the top of my head. I don't know what Jon wanted, exactly. I suppose I was hoping Jon could help somehow. Bushra was the one who talked to him. We arrived at maybe 6:45pm? Were concerned because the door opened when we knocked. We heard something in the back, a window or door closing? No answer when we called out. We went inside, heard the shower running, bathroom door open. Found Jon… Yes, what you wrote down is accurate. Sign here? Okay. Then they checked my ID and address, searched my purse. I wrote down my phone number for them. I agreed to make myself available, if contacted. No, I wasn't going anywhere. No, there was nothing else. No, I wasn't hurt. Yes, I do have a ride home, thank you.

I waited a little while after the officer left, standing awkwardly in the driveway. Another officer was in the process of setting up some yellow barrier tape around the edges of the property, and I could see a few curious onlookers already peeking in from the boundary. Bushra was a little distance away, at the end of the garage, still talking to the other officer. She had her arms wrapped her torso, as if she was cold. She had the same unfocused look in her eyes she'd had since we discovered Jon.

This made no sense.

Jon, taking his life? Why call us? Or rather, Bushra?

Someone else was there. I couldn't very well tell anyone I saw them on my map, but we both heard the door in the back. Somebody was there before us. I looked at the front door. It had been open. I noticed the video door bell again, inset off to the side – surely that would show whoever was there first.

Did they kill Jon? Why? Was it related to Bushra and I getting framed in some way? Someone covering it up? Why? Who?

While my thoughts were cycling around like that, Bushra walked over. The officer she had been talking to was now conferring with a newcomer in plainclothes. Based on their body language, the newcomer was higher rank.

"They said we can go home." Bushra was looking unfocused toward the pavement, still hugging her sides.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"No," she answered shakily. "I just want to get out of here."

"Want me to drive?" I offered. She didn't seem in a good frame of mind to be behind the wheel. I wondered if I was.

"Sure," she said, still not looking at me directly, and pulled her keys out and handed them over.

It was an eerily quiet drive to her home. Bushra gave me her address to enter into my phone GPS app, then seemed to retreat further into herself in the passenger seat. I was worried. Since I showed up at the café – no, since she called me before that – she'd been entirely unlike the animated and aggressive young woman who confronted me yesterday. But I was at a loss for how to help. I was struggling to keep my own thoughts from flying apart.

I parked in her driveway, and saw her to the front door. "I'll call you tomorrow," I handed her the keys, and squeezed her arm to get a reaction. "We'll figure it out. Get some sleep." She finally focused on me and nodded once, before ducking inside. I contacted a ridesharing service to get back to my car, then headed home. It was well after midnight by the time I returned.

I looked over at the couch. Iter was still deeply engrossed in his game. I noticed he was near the end, the final act where the villain was on the run and you were chasing him to the ultimate showdown. I wished it was like that in real life. This felt hollow and messy.

I hadn't wanted to call attention to myself when we were around the police, and then my worry for Bushra and the drive home took up my attention. Now safely in my living room, I opened my phone and looked at the picture I took of Jon's note. No one had asked me about it. I assume the police found it, but I had wanted to make sure I could read it firsthand, and I wasn't sure I'd have another opportunity. Especially since it has been marked on my map. It said:

I'm sorry, first and foremost, to my family, for not being strong enough. They do not deserve this shame I have and will put them through. I hope they will forgive me someday for my weakness.

I'm sorry to the people at Complyze, and to its shareholders that I let down. I failed in my duty to them. I don't ask for or deserve their forgiveness. I do ask that those I have wronged are exonerated. I am wholly to blame. No one else should be made to suffer.

I participated in a scheme to defraud the company, and then to cover it up. The documents included with this letter are proof of my culpability.

I am so sorry.

I stared at the words in the picture. I didn't know Jon's handwriting well enough to say it was his, but it was clearly a confession. In the photo I saw the edges of some other papers peeking out underneath the notepad, but it was unclear what they were. The additional evidence, I presume? One of the edges seemed to resemble an invoice I'd become all to familiar with recently. But I couldn't say for sure.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

I flashed to the swiftly moving blue dot on my map, leaving Jon's house. Did they come after, like we did? Someone else Jon contacted for closure? Or was it more sinister than that? Was he forced to confess like this? What happened between when he contacted Bushra and we arrived? Who was that?

"Mai?" I looked up and saw Iter's silver eyes staring back at me in concern.

"What?" I replied in momentary confusion.

"You did not answer Us," he searched my face. "What has happened?"

I struggled to craft an answer to describe the night's events. "Jon's dead," I blurted out eventually.

Iter furrowed his brow slightly. "Ms. Patel's former manager," he stated calmly, "who you were to meet tonight."

"Yes," I confirmed. "He was either killed or killed himself, I don't know which. We found him. We had to wait for the police to finish with us before we could come home."

"What do you wish to do now?" He seemed unfazed by the news, his tone as flat as if asking what I wanted for dinner tonight.

I hated that. I wanted to claw at that indifference, scream at him for taking this so lightly, for putting all of it on me. I clenched my jaw shut on some hard words rising like bile form my throat. "I'm going to make some coffee," I replied curtly. And couldn't help adding, "You can keep playing your game, I guess. A man only died, after all."

I escaped the room and leaned against the kitchen counter next to the coffee machine. I bit down hard while I waited for the heat in my brain to subside. I gradually forced it down, where it remained just below the surface. Until I felt like I could manage assembling a cup of coffee without throwing things across the floor. I punched buttons, and the machine started hissing as the water boiled.

It's been three days since I was laid off. Well, four days now, I guess, looking at the microwave clock. How could it only be that long?

In that time I'd been accused of theft, hit by a truck, summoned by a god to be a hero, who was now living in my apartment playing fucking video games. A former coworker asked me to help start a company, I formed a party with her, found a bunch of loose cash and jewelry around town, leveled up and accepted a quest, which took me to a marketing event by the supplier who I was accused of extorting, found some 'clues', was almost caught, and passed out in the lobby. I spent most of today testing out the app with Iter and the gang at Epic Encounters, before Bushra called me to confront Jon, and we found him dead.

The coffee finished dribbling into the cup I'd set down, and I clutched at it. I took a sip and burnt my mouth, then set the cup back down on the counter.

Oh yeah, and I leveled up again.

Fuck.

I felt a presence behind me, and held myself from turning around.

"What do you want, Iter?" I pried my jaw open to ask.

"We wish to help," I heard him say quietly, inquiringly.

I put my palm on my forehead as if to smooth the furrows of my brow. I shook my head slightly, and turned slowly around, meeting his concerned gaze with a hard look.

"How can you help?" I fought to keep my voice level. "I'm honestly asking. 'Cause right now, I could really use some fucking help." A part of me knew I was being unfair, but I couldn't help it. "So. What have you got?" The anger boiled in me, and it needed, it demanded an outlet.

His eyes flicked back and forth. Then without warning he reached out and carefully wrapped his arms around me. I stiffened involuntarily, my mind whited-out, wholly unprepared and in shock. It was a gentle embrace, his arms gingerly cradling my form like a delicate glass latticework, as if afraid I would shatter from the slightest pressure. His hands lightly touched my spine and the back of my head. I could hear his soft silken sleeves sliding delicately against the thin cotton of my blouse. My face was pressed lightly against his collar bone, and I unconsciously breathed in his mild and oddly sweet scent, like incense and vanilla. My neck was rigid, air caught in my lungs, and my eyes were wide and hot.

"You are hurting still." His voice was gentle, and I could feel the reverberations of his chest and throat against my cheek. "We cannot remove the pain, but We can perhaps help you find the Way past it." I could feel a stinging wetness in the corners of my eyes, and then embarrassment finally overcame my shock, and I pushed him hard away. I was breathing heavily, gasping for air.

"What are you doing!" My anger was subsumed, engulfed in a deluge of roiling emotions churning in my chest. Iter stepped back, but stayed within arms reach. I felt the rounded edge of the kitchen counter pressing into the small of my back, and felt trapped. I couldn't control my breathing.

"Forgive Us. It seemed to Us that you needed comfort, so We attempted to provide it." The edges of his eyes and mouth drooped sadly. "We were wrong to obtrude."

"Shit!" I spat, but entirely lacking force, "Ask first!" I held out a hand to ward him away, and struggled to regain my balance. What the hell!?

"We apologize." One small corner of his mouth rose, but his troubled gaze continued to search my face. "We will remember."

✦ ✦ ✦

I was sitting in the lounge chair again, curled up around my cup of untasted coffee. I was still trying to figure out exactly what happened, but Iter was at least keeping his distance at the far end of the couch. The TV and console were off. The silence extended uncomfortably.

"So, uh," I relented, unable to bear it any longer. "I'm not sure what happens now." My mind raced to put things back on track, away from the kitchen. "Jon left a note behind. This might have put to bed inmy legal problems, I think?" I fought my way through past the awkwardness, grasping for more to relay. "I completed the quest. And it looks like a new one came up." I opened up my journal and went to the prompt.

New Quest.

A Fractured Pride.

Accept? Y/N

I hadn't accepted it yet. Did I need to?

"Do you know what this is about?" I asked, looking at Iter directly for the first time. I held my breath, half expected him to come over and look at my screen directly. But thankfully he stayed put.

"We do not. What occurred to trigger it?" Iter seemed as cool and calm as always. It was infuriating, but I was passed tired at this point.

"I'm not sure? It popped up right after completing the previous one, after… after everything at Jon's." I thought back, uncomfortably. Did it show up after we found Jon? After finding the note? I parsed through my weary memory, then had an idea. I opened my Journal. "It seemed to be after Bushra started crying," I commented out loud, then closed my mouth in embarrassment. 'Both of you, making me see that again,' she'd said. I was puzzled by what she meant for a moment. Then I guiltily remembered she was there at the scene of my initial accident. I was less enamored by the Journal right now. Perfect recall of all the ignominious things you'd done, intentionally or not, was hard to absorb.

"There is no harm in accepting the quest." Iter spoke after a brief pause. "Perhaps you will gain some insight on the direction to take once it has been accepted." He smiled wanly. "You can always reject it or ignore it after."

Hmm. Well, I asked him about it. It seemed petty to ignore what he said. I went ahead and accepted the quest.

A Fractured Pride. – Accepted.

Nothing earth shattering happened. I checked my map, and saw no new quest markers. Guess I'll have to wait and see. I wondered idly whose pride was fractured. Seems like mine was taking a pounding recently. I futilely chided myself to do better going forward, and looked back up at Iter. "Also, I leveled up. And it seems like Bushra leveled up, too? What's that about?"

A wide smile grew on Iter's face as he beamed at me. "It means you are on the right Path, Our Hero!"