“Goodnight, Evie,” Walter said. He leaned over and kissed Reeve’s forehead. Sitting back up, he brushed a strand of her long black hair off her cheek and around her ear, part of him still surprised to find her hair no longer stiff from resin and her ear without a half-orcish point.

“Night, Dad,” Reeve said slowly, with effort. She pulled the blanket to her neck and rolled onto her side next to where he sat at the edge of the bed.

“Mom says goodnight too,” Walter said. “Mrs. Jacobs called, and she’s still talking with her.”

“The cat?”

“Yes, something about the cat.” Walter patted his daughter on the shoulder and stood. “Thanks again for showing us…everything.” Walter chuckled. “I keep having to remind myself that I haven’t missed any work, or bills, or anything else. It’s amazing, really fantastic.”

“Yeah, it is fantastic,” Reeve drew out the first syllable of the word, just like her father had.

Walter smiled.

“And, no problem,” she said. “I’m glad we did it.”

“Sorry, Honey,” Walter said. “I didn’t catch that. You want your tablet?”

Reeve nodded, and Walter retrieved her tablet from its mount on her wheelchair and lay it next to her pillow.

Reeve swiped to the text-to-speech app and repeated what she’d said, the almost-realistic digital voice sounding like an old friend after its absence for months of game time. “I said, no problem. I’m glad we did it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. When I died from Helia’s attack—“

“Yes?”

“—before I respawned, I had the option to recall the party to the lobby.”

“You could have gotten us all out?”

“Yup.”

“And you’d have been able to do that at any point in the game, if you had just died?”

“Yup.”

Walter smiled. “I guess you’re just too good for your own good.”

Reeve smiled. “I guess so. But, like I said, I’m glad we did what we did.”

“Me too,” he said. “And, you know, I’m thinking about trying some new things, here, in real life.”

“Smartphone?”

“No.”

“Beekeeping?”

“Oh, heavens no. I was thinking suspenders.”

Reeve snorted but smiled.

“And, Evie, I think I understand better now, when you say that your technologies,” Walter gestured to the tablet, then her motorized chair and smartphone, “are part of you. Part of your senses. How you interact with the world.”

Reeve nodded.

“I mean, I knew that before. But now, seeing you in there, totally free, I think I really get it. I won’t give you a hard time about texting so much.”

Reeve nodded.

“You know, unless it’s too much. Dad’s gonna dad.”

Reeve smiled, and her eyes slowly unfocused as the darkness and fatigue began to overtake her.

Walter’s silhouette shrank as he walked into the rectangle of light coming from the hall, caught the handle in one hand, gave a small wave with the other, and pulled the door closed.

Reeve stared drowsily across the dark room. She couldn’t believe she’d managed to finish studying for the math test, and it wasn’t even past midnight. She smiled again and cast about for a mantra to end the day—the weeks—on.

I can’t change my parents, but I can change the world, she thought.

I can’t change my parents, but I can change the world.

She smiled again and pulled the pillow tighter under her head.

Her mind touched lightly on random events of the day, sensations in her exhausted body, and features of her dark room, eventually registering a slowly pulsing red light on the front of her VR setup. Weird, she thought, it should be asleep—I’ll have to check on that in the morning. Her mind moved on, and she closed her eyes.