The screen flashed DRAW. Silas’s muscle memory kicked in—his fingers twitched for the code to slow time ( DOWN, DOWN, LEFT, RIGHT ). But nothing happened. His cursor lagged. Echo’s hand was a blur. BLAM. Silas’s character clutched his chest, blood blooming like a dark rose. Defeat.

The saloon erupted in hoots. Silas slammed his fist. “That’s not fair! You distracted me!”

“I challenge you,” she said. Her voice was flat as a dry riverbed.

“And no codes,” Echo added.

He typed GODMODE . Nothing. HEAL . Nothing. RESPAWN . The screen mocked him with the word:

Echo didn’t stop him. She just watched.