Liam had spent the last few days drifting between sleep and soft conversation. His body was still weak from everything he'd endured, but slowly, his energy had begun to return. Most of that time, he'd spent with Dickson. Not just resting, but talking—really talking.
He told Dickson everything.
The system.
The stats.
The gangs.
The supernatural threats, the Crimson Hand, the Sokolov legacy—every thread of madness that had rewired his life since the day his father died.
Dickson didn't blink.
In fact, he laughed more than he flinched.
"Dude," Dickson had said, sprawled across the couch as if they were talking about comic books. "You're basically a goddamn anime protagonist. This is the coolest shit I've ever heard!"
Liam tried to warn him—tried to drill the danger into his thick skull. That people died. That the enemies were real. That he could wake up tomorrow and find one of them dead. But Dickson just grinned, eyes wide, childlike with excitement.
