Jennet woke, aching, in the sim chair. Her hands were stiff inside the gaming gloves, and when she sat forward, fire exploded in her shoulder. She could barely lift her arm, but it was impossible to take off the helmet one-handed. Trying not to whimper, she gritted her teeth against the agony and pulled off her gear.

She had lost.

Feyland was more than just a sim game. The clues had been there all along, but she hadn’t paid enough attention until now. Now, when it was too late. And she’d done worse than lose the game.

There was a frigid hollow in the center of her chest. The Dark Queen had taken something from her—something she feared she couldn’t live without. Bright flames trapped inside a magical sphere. Her mortal essence, the queen had said.

She had to get it back.

Jennet stumbled to her bedroom. She swayed at the edge of her bed, trying to pull the covers back. No use. She toppled forward onto the blue coverlet, and let the blackness of sleep take her down.

Call an ambulance! Now!

…unusual symptoms, Mr. Carter. No signs of external trauma…

--still unconscious?

…as soon as she wakes up we’ll notify you. Now get some rest…

(sobbing)