[ELLE's PoV]

The amount of nerds willing to stand outside a New York City convention center in mid December was concerning. And the amount of said nerds willing to do so in skimpy cosplay made me wonder if I had missed a memo somewhere. Like, was removing your nerve-endings part of some induction into nerdhood that I'd missed?

At least I'd ordered my tickets online, because while the line to get into the convention was bad, the line to get last minute tickets was a million times worse. A girl across from me in a Princess Leia bikini was starting to turn blue.

Marc stood next to me, swishing his cape and drinking a slushie. Clearly, he'd participated in the ritual of nerve-ending removal. He wasn't even shivering when he smiled over at me. "Is a convention like a ball?"

"Do you have costume parties in the Shadow Realm?"

"Sometimes!" Marc nodded. "Faye's seventeenth birthday party involved costumes. But I was only ten at the time, so I don't remember much."

I frowned. "Faye as in your Magicarp?"

"No, Faye as in the mermaid I named my Magicarp after, obviously."

"Yes, obviously."

Then Marc frowned. "Aw, that just reminded me, I'm gonna miss her party this year. Faye always has the best birthdays. For her twenty-second birthday, Inari and Emrys planned..."

I wanted to listen to Marc's story, I really did, but I was such a bundle of panicked energy that everything he said went in one ear and right out the other.

I was minutes away from meeting Jared Frobisher—the Jared Frobisher—writer, character designer, and director of Shadows of Light, the greatest RPG to have ever been released. And upon meeting him, I was going to ask him how to get inside his game world for real, because that's where my best friend in the whole entire universe was trapped.

Yeah. That was gonna go over just fine.

The line ahead of me finally started to move above a snails pace, and within a few frantic heartbeats Marc and I were inside the convention center. I grabbed his arm with one hand, scooped up the hem of my obnoxious gown with the other, and booked it to the Dark Reckonings panel.

After Marc told me that the real Queen Amaranth of Lumina wasn't white, I obviously had to cosplay her. Though now that I was in the full, glittering ballgown and trying to move quickly through a crowd, I was filled with much regret.

"I should have just cosplayed a knight," I muttered. At least then I'd be in pants.

"Dresses look good on you, Estelle." Marc smiled.

I shot him a glare. Ever since he'd gotten ahold of my driver's license and seen my full name, that's all he's called me. "Elle, please. Estelle is almost as bad as 'Demon Woman.'"

"What about Lady Estelle: Demon Warrior?" He offered, still grinning broadly.

"I'm not going to acknowledge that," I answered quickly, although I had to admit it did sound kinda badass. Well, no. I didn't have to admit. And I wasn't going to. "Call me Elle or you're dead to me for the rest of the week."

Marc pouted. "You're no fun."

My heart dropped to my feet when we reached the DR panel. The room was full to bursting.

"What are we going to do now?" Marc asked, gaping at the crowd.

"Push through with confidence." I took a deep breath and released his arm to hold my skirt with both arms. I charged forward, head high. "Queen of Lumina, coming through! Make way!"

"Make way, peasants!" Marc shouted, waving his arms and somehow not spilling his slushie. "Have some respect for your queen!"

We got a lot of confused stares, but we moved with enough authority that no one stopped us when we moved all the way to the front of the crowd to stand amongst a group of other cosplayers by the stage.

I checked my phone. Only five more minutes until Frobisher would be on stage to talk about the new game, answer questions, and sign autographs.I wasn't stupid enough to ask him about the Shadow Realm during the Q&A. I would wait for autographs, when I'd have a short window to talk to him one on one.

"That's the laziest King Seraphim cosplay I've ever seen." A young girl—and I mean young, she couldn't have been more than twelve—glared at Marc. She wore a silver wig, plastic elf ears, and a purple dress. "You know he's blonde right?"

"Of course I know that," Marc answered, sounding offended. "But I'm not dressed as Seraphim—I'm Marcellus, Seraphim's younger brother."

The young girl crossed her arms. "That's a really stupid OC."

Marc stepped slightly closer to me. "I don't know what an 'oh see' is, but please don't insult me while in the guise of my sister-in-law. It's too realistic."

"Whatever." The girl rolled her eyes and scoffed, then turned her attention to me and smiled cheerfully. "That's a really great Amaranth cosplay."

I arched an eyebrow. "Thank—"

The girl cut me off by emitting an ear-piercing shriek, soon followed by applause and shouts from the rest of the crowd, as Frobisher walked onto the stage.

I'd seen a few pictures and videos of him from interviews from over the years. He always looked well put together in dress pants and button down shirts. Now, he just sorta looked like someone's weird uncle.

His graying ginger hair was slicked back under a knit hat, and he wore a gaudy hawaiian shirt, khaki pants, and—oh no—neon green crocs with animal printed socks.

"This is your god?" Marc muttered.

I pursed my lips and nodded as I watched Frobisher bumble nervously onto the stage and wave to the screaming crowd.

For the next half hour he stammered into a microphone about how excited he was to share Dark Reckonings with us patient fans—the release date, March of next year, was met with even more screaming. Even I felt a little pang of excitement, despite being here strictly on "official business." I would definitely have Mags back by then. We could play together.

Then the lights dimmed and a projector screen lowered to the sound of—wow, shocker—more screaming.

Frobisher cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "I hope you all enjoy this con-exclusive trailer, with a new look at our mysterious Lady Jacintha."

I pulled up my phone's notepad, ready to record anything that would be of use.

The trailer began with the familiar SoL theme song, showing clips from the original game and some demo of the improved combat system. Then the song shifted into something darker and slower, and the trailer transitioned to a beautifully rendered cutscene.

A girl I recognized from the SoL Wiki as King Jareth and Queen Amaranth's daughter, Princess Rainette, walked through a snow-dusted rose garden, arm in arm with Lady Jacintha.

My heart thudded. In this scene, Jacintha wasn't wearing a mask, and her extremely Maggie-like face was fully visible. There was no mistaking her now.

Rainette smiled over at her. "I have a feeling we're going to be great friends."

A flash—Prince Casimir clasping the emerald engagement pendant around Jacintha's neck.

Another flash—A female hand mixing poison into deep red wine.

Another flash—Jacintha and Casimir dancing, Casimir leaning in to kiss her.

Another flash—A heeled foot stepping delicately over the corpse of a knight, the hem of a blue gown dragging through blood.

The screen went black for a moment, and then we were back to the scene in the snowy garden.

Jacintha grinned. "I think so too."

The music swelled as the words Dark Reckonings appeared across the screen in curling golden letters.

What.

The lighting in the hall returned to normal, and the cheers of the crowd just barely drown out the screaming in my mind.

"An-any questions?" Frobisher asked.

A girl near the front, fittingly in costume as Lady Jacintha from the masquerade trailer, raised her hand. "Is Jacintha the villain of DR?"

No. She couldn't be. Mags wouldn't— couldn't hurt a fly.

"Ah, I'm sorry," Frobisher laughed, "you'll have to wait and see."

Things in the game are different than the real Shadow Realm, I tried to remind myself. The war is portrayed wrong. Queen Amaranth is whitewashed. Not everything in the game is right.

But that was Mags. Everything about her— aside from the voice, of course— was exactly the same.

So what was real? What was the truth?

If...

I felt dizzy.

If Mags was somehow involved in a murder in Lumina's palace, there was no way they'd let her live. She would already be imprisioned by now. Or executed.

"Next question?"

"Why did it take so long for a second game to be released?" A guy towards the back shouted.

I didn't even process Frobisher's answer.

I grabbed onto Marc's arm to steady myself. "I can't breathe."

Marc frowned. "That footage didn't make sense."

No shit. "What do you mean?"

"It's not the winter season in Lumina yet. Snow won't fall there for another month, at least." Marc said. His free hand rubbed my back.

I took a deep breath. "So you don't think it happened yet? How is that possible?"

Marc furrowed his brow as he stared at Frobisher. "Perhaps this man is a prophet? I've encountered one before, in my world. It's a possibility at least."

Sure. I would go with that, if only to keep myself from passing out. If it hadn't happened yet, then I had time. I could get to the Shadow Realm, find Mags, and get her out before she got involved in... Whatever that was.

If this was a prediction, if this was fate, I would change it.

I had until the snow fell.

After the panel, most of the crowd cleared out, but a decent amount stuck around to wait in the autograph line. Luckily, Marc and I managed to worm our way close to the front.

I would only have a limited amount of time to ask Frobisher my questions, and I wanted to save the big, crazy sounding ones for last. I'd feel him out first, see what he actually knew about the realm.

When I reached his table, Frobisher blinked then pulled on a pair of glasses. "Goodness, you look so familiar. Have we met?"

"Um, no?" My train of thought derailed. I looked down at my ridiculous dress. "I'm cosplaying Queen Amaranth, so maybe that's it?"

"Maybe," Frobisher agreed. He put his glasses up on top of his hat and grinned. "It's interesting that you cosplayed Amaranth— My original concept of her was dark skinned, but the rest of the team made me change it for the final design."

I glanced wide-eyed at Marc. Okay, that definitely proved it. Frobisher was legit.

"Do you have something for me to sign?" He asked.

"I um, I actually wanted to ask you, where did you get the idea for the Shadow Realm?" I tried to read his face.

Frobisher shrugged. "I take inspiration from lots of different classic fantasy works."

"And Lady Jacintha," I pressed, "where did you get the inspiration for her?"

"Ah, our mysterious lady, as with most of the central characters, came to me in a dream." Frobisher laughed nervously. "I've had vivid dreams for... Well, as long as I can remember. I keep a record of my dreams every night for story inspiration."

Someone in line behind us coughed.

Frobisher glanced and then reddened. He smiled apologetically at me. "Thank you very much for your interest in my work, but if you don't have something for me to sign please—"

"Here, sign this." I pulled the snapshot out of my cleavage, ignoring Marc's snickers, and slapped it down. It's not like I had anywhere else to store things in this ridiculous costume.

"And who should I make this out to..." Frobisher trailed off, his face going pale, his marker hovering above the photo.

"To Maggie, the girl in the picture." I said. "She's been missing since October. Look familiar?"

Frobisher looked at the picture. Looked at me. Swallowed. "Please stand to the side. I'll speak to you once the line has cleared."

Clearing the line took about an hour, by the way, and every ten minutes or so Frobisher would nervously glance my way, like he was checking to see if I was still waiting. Which, of course I was.

"So what do you think?" Marc asked, nugding me.

"Obviously he knows something," I answered. "Otherwise he would have called con security or something."

Eventually the last person got their autograph and Frobisher cleared his table. He headed off the stage and motioned for us to follow him.

We followed him to a small conference room that had been turned into a makeshift convention-presenter lounge. A few other people wandered around the room, most keeping near the coffee maker.

Without speaking, Frobisher sat at the table farthest away from the others and nodded to the seats across from him. We sat, also silent, waiting.

Marc set his slushie cup on the table.

Finally, Frobisher cleared his throat. "Show me the picture again."

I handed it over, my fingers tingling with nerves.

Another long moment of silence passed.

"Is this a joke?" He asked, his voice even, his face still pale.

"I wouldn't joke about something this. That's my best friend, Magdalyn Darrow."

"Magdalyn..." Frobisher echoed. He looked confused, but his tone was unreadable.

"She's been missing since October 17th." I kept my voice down. The others in the room were minding their own business, but I didn't want to risk drawing an audience.

"And then last month, I saw the Lady Jacintha reveal trailer. You clearly notice the similarities. So tell me, how does an exact replica of a missing girl show up in your game?" I pressed my lips together, gauging his expression.

He shook his head and handed the picture back. "It has to be a coincidence, I'm sorry. I've been dreaming of Jacintha for over a year now—it takes time to develop a game, her character model has been in development for months before your friend even disappeared."

"Told you. Prophet," Marc muttered from his seat at my side.

Frobisher's gaze flicked to him. "What did you—"

"The Realm Under Twin Shadows is a real place," I cut in. What the hell, might as well drop the formalities and get everything out in the open.

Frobisher's eyes widened for a split second before narrowing. "This is not a humorous joke, Miss. Please leave."

"She's telling the truth," Marc insisted. "I'm Marcellus Villiers of Samsara in Aeterna, younger brother of Seraphim Villiers."

"Samsara?" Frobisher looked pale as a ghost. "That region was never in the game, I never told anyone—"

Marc continued, his voice rising with urgency. "While we believe her friend Magdalyn is trapped in the Shadow Realm, so too am I trapped here. Please, I want to go home!"

"Enough."

"Here, feel my feathers!"

"I said enough, boy!"

"They're covered in glitter now, but they're real and connected to my flesh. Surly that couldn't be faked—" Marc stood and leaned across the table, toppling his slushie in the process. The remaining contents of the cup spilled into Frobisher's lap.

"Enough!" Frobisher jumped to his feet. His khakis were stained blue, his face went from pale white to furious red. "I don't want to hear anymore! I don't care what your story is—Dreams are just dreams, my game is just a game!"

"Do not contact me again." He stormed toward the conference room door, calling over his shoulder. "If you're not gone when I get back, I'm calling the police."

The other people in the room glanced our way, but then returned to sipping coffee and carrying on their own quiet conversations.

"That could have gone better, I suppose," Marc sighed.

I nodded, staring at the empty seat across from us. We may have gone a bit too hard. Maybe the guy really was just a prophet, like Marc said. It's not his fault his dreams happen to be of real events in another world.

But now we were back to square one: knowing where we need to get, but having no way to get there. Only this time, there was the added anxiety of a time limit.

"Oh. He left his bag," Marc noted.

"He's probably just in the bathroom trying to prince the blue out of his pants," I shrugged. "We should go, I'd rather not have to argue this situation with the cops..."

But then an idea hit me. We had maybe ten minutes max until Frobisher got back from the bathroom. If I worked quick, that would be enough time to look through things. "Grab the bag," I said.

Marc pulled it up onto the dry end of the table and I crossed my fingers as he unzipped it. I released a breath— Frobisher's laptop was in there.

He may not know how to get to the Shadow Realm, but he did say he kept a record of all his dreams. Maybe somewhere in that record, somewhere in the unreleased game info, there was a hint about how we could get there.

I opened the laptop—it was password protected of course—and pulled my flash drive out of my bra. Seriously, there's more storage space in there than most pockets on female jeans. I had fifty bucks and a pack of gum on the other side.

I plugged the drive in and started typing.

"What's that?" Marc asked.

I shook my head. The boy didn't understand how television worked, there was no way I was gonna waste time explaining this when Frobisher could get back any second. "Think of it as the computer equivalent of a lock-pick," I said.

Once I'd bypassed the password lock, I pulled a different flash drive out and plugged that one in as well. I duplicated any folder that looked relevant, glancing toward the door every so often.

Marc dug through the bag. "There's a lot of interesting stuff in here."

"Leave it," I hissed, "he'll call the cops if he thinks we took anything."

"Are we both mobsters now?" Marc asked.

"No."

"But we're in the 'Big Apple,' dressed nice, and doing crimes." Marc pointed out with an eager smile.

"Screw it, we're mobsters then." I sighed, ejected both flash drives, and slid the laptop back into the bag. I grabbed Marc's arm. "Lets get out of here."

We hurried out of the room, out of the building, and down the street. A clean getaway, hopefully with the answers to our problem tucked away in my bra. "We're a regular Bonnie and Clyde," I said with a wink.

"No, we're Marc and Elle." Marc frowned. "Wait, was that a joke? I'd like to understand the joke, please explain."

I rolled my eyes. "Ugh, just google it later."