“Mike?
“They cleared me to try to, well, find you. But I’ve never…
“It’s almost like there’s nothing in here. Except you. We can still sense you.
“It’s been almost a week, Mike.
“We took you straight in when you didn’t wake up. I didn’t dare delve then, and they thought it was me, so I never got a chance.
“Until now.
“Bad news. You’re… well…
“Fine, I guess? But...
“Your mom and dad can barely look at you.
“Remember you once tried to explain the internet to me? I didn’t get it, but maybe you’ll get this: You’re the internet, Mike.
“You’re a series of tubes.
“...
“I was hoping you’d laugh, or something.
“I wish there was an explanation. You just didn’t wake up.
“The good news is you’re alive. We were worried you were…
“Well, you keep lighting up all their machines. Everyone is very confused, but no one has given up.
“I miss you, dad. I rea—”
“Do not call him that. You are my child, not—”
“Vincent? When did you—”
“Enough. I do not like this. We are too far. Too deep.
“Out. Now.”
“Mike, please come b
Mike sat bolt-upright in the sand. Sunshine washed over him, trying and failing to warm through his sudden terror.
That was Robin.
If Mike had seemed off-kilter before, the fourty-eight hours spent in solitude had done its work to exacerbate the circumstances. His flannel was undone, crumpled, rolled up to his elbows. Dark bags hung under his eyes. His cheeks were sallow, his baggier-than-usual jeans sinched tight around his gut.
Hunger clawed at him for the first time since the games had begun. Low, but everpresent.
Waves lapped at his feet. He didn't move, and the water soaked through his shoes.
Hollow eyes stared out across the ocean. Further than the horizon. As if, maybe, he'd see a flicker of violet flame in the sparkling blue.