“You got past Level 7,” his father said. His voice was the same. Warm. Tired from work, but soft for his son.
“It’s not a game, son. It’s a place. And you’re registered for life.”
He clicked.
Leo’s hands lifted from the keyboard. He didn’t place them on the mouse. He didn’t need to. The game’s cursor—a small, pulsing particle—moved with his eyes. He looked left. It drifted left. He blinked twice. The game started.
Leo moved the mouse. Deleted the file. Emptied the trash.
