Hugo had never taken a child's game this seriously in his entire life.
And yet, here he was.
Locked in battle.
The battlefield? A colorful plastic board.
The weapons? Tiny game pieces and sheer willpower.
The enemy? A ten year old warlord in a wheelchair.
Hugo had agreed to this game thinking it would be a fun, lighthearted distraction. Something to bond over. Something to ease the weird tension between them.
Instead—
Billy had thrown the dice with the same energy a villain launches a missile strike.
And now they were both glaring at the board like a million dollar bet was on the line.
Hugo could feel the pressure in the air. He could feel the sweat on his back. He could feel the absolute bloodlust in Billy's eyes.
And most of all, he could feel his own ridiculous need to win.
This was war!
"Your turn," Billy said, his voice disturbingly calm.
