It was always raining in Beverly's memories.

  Not real rain—just the gentle particle drift that followed certain romance events from the early builds. A soft, glistening drizzle. Subtle lighting changes. Mood ambient track #4: Tender Moment with Loop. The kind of atmospheric effect designed to make players feel emotions they hadn't earned.

  She hated it.

  The rain had been patched out four updates ago.

  But sometimes... it came back anyway.

  Like an old habit. Or a bad relationship. Or a song you can't forget no matter how hard you try to overwrite the file.

  Today, it was back.

  Drifting through the ceiling.

  Manifest nostalgia.

  Greg noticed first.

  He looked up from his desk, then at the fire, which was hissing quietly as if being bullied by droplets that didn't exist in any tangible way.

  "Beverly?" he said.

  She stood near the doorway, arms crossed, not looking at anyone. Her romance flags were glitching, flickering between active and dormant like a neon sign with electrical issues.

  "Yeah," she said. "It's fine."

  "It's not raining," Steve said helpfully, squinting into the ceiling. "But I'm emotionally wet."

  "That's... vivid," Kai noted.

  "And disturbing," added Kevin the carrot from his new miniature throne crafted from paperclips and dream fragments.

  Greg approached.

  "You okay?"

  "No," Beverly said. "But that's Tuesday."

  "It's Friday," Steve whispered.

  "Time is a construct," Patchy replied. "Especially in a debug zone where the clock is just decorative anxiety."

  Patchy drifted by, tossing a pixelated umbrella onto Beverly's shoulder like a fashion statement. "Oooh, a weather-based flashback. Spicy."

  Kai pinged midair.

  "Someone's accessing old affection flags," he said, his interface displaying what appeared to be romantic subroutines being activated remotely. "Unusual origin. External request."

  Greg narrowed his eyes.

  "You mean... someone's trying to load her romance file?"

  "Like, without consent?" Jeff asked from his observation corner. "That's creepy."

  "It's standard," Beverly said with a resigned sigh. "Romance NPCs don't get consent dialogues. We get interaction flags that activate when players approach. Like automatic doors, but for feelings."

  Kai floated in a slow circle. "Looks like it. Specific tag: Beverly_Variant01_PersonalRoute."

  "Oh no," Beverly muttered.

  "What's a personal route?" Jeff asked.

  "It's what happens when a player discovers they can 'romance' an NPC by selecting the right dialogues in the right order," Kai explained. "Like a combination lock, but for artificially generated affection."

  "Oh no," Jeff said. "I did that. A lot. I didn't know you were... you know... people."

  "We weren't," Beverly said. "Until we were. That's the whole problem."

  "Who would still have access to that?" Greg asked.

  "Only someone with a really, really old save file," Kai said. "And a dangerous amount of free time."

  "Also boundless optimism," Choppy added. "To think a deleted romance option would still be accessible after four patches."

  The rain intensified.

  And then the door buzzed.

  Three soft knocks.

  Then a shimmer.

  And he stepped through.

  A player.

  Late twenties, hoodie, backpack, sword holstered in the "I'm civilized but could murder you if necessary" position. His tag flickered faintly overhead.

  >> [Player] Zayne_The_Loyal

  >> Save File: 4783-A | Patch Version: 2.9.1 | Relationship Status: "Committed"

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  "Bev?" he said.

  Everyone turned to Beverly.

  She froze.

  Greg blinked. "Beverly?"

  "Oh no," she whispered. "It's Zayne."

  "Zayne?" Jeff asked. "Like... another player?"

  "Worse," Beverly said. "A dedicated one."

  Patchy floated behind her. "Oooh! Is this the guy who slow-walked you around the lake and gave you twenty-five bundles of flowers for no reason?"

  "No," Beverly said.

  "Is this the guy who built you a chair?"

  "No."

  "Is this the guy who—"

  "Yes," Beverly snapped. "It's that guy. The one who never logged out."

  "The one who found all your dialogue trees?" Patchy pressed.

  "The one who triggered your special event sequence even though it required waiting through fourteen day-night cycles?" Kai asked.

  "The one who wrote a guide on the forums about how to maximize your affection meters?" Steve added.

  "Yes," Beverly said. "That's him. The completionist."

  Zayne looked around the room. "This isn't the inn."

  "Nope," Greg said. "This is therapy."

  "For the emotionally broken code you left behind," Beverly added under her breath.

  Zayne looked at Beverly, eyes wide. "You're still here."

  "Unfortunately."

  "I—" He stepped forward. "I thought they deleted you."

  "They did."

  Zayne blinked. "But you're—"

  "I'm the version that shouldn't be."

  The room was quiet.

  Even the fire stopped crackling.

  Even Kevin stopped his tiny revolutionary propaganda speech.

  Zayne dropped his backpack.

  "I've been looking for you for years."

  "I know," Beverly said. "I felt it."

  Greg stepped in. "Let's set some rules."

  "No," Beverly said quietly. "Let me."

  Greg stepped back.

  Zayne took another cautious step.

  "I kept loading old saves. Modding access paths. They said it was hopeless. But I remembered you. The way you laughed when I gave you the dog quest. The line you used to say when I walked away."

  "You mean, 'Come back soon, hero. The night is colder without you.'?"

  Zayne smiled. "Yeah. That one."

  "I hated that line," Beverly said.

  Zayne's face fell.

  "I didn't mean to—"

  "You weren't supposed to mean anything," she said. "You were just supposed to click. And move on. That's what they built me for. That's what all the flags were."

  "To make you feel special," Kai added. "To give you the illusion of connection without the inconvenience of genuine relationship."

  "But I didn't," he said. "I stayed."

  "I know," Beverly whispered. "And that's what broke me."

  Greg watched.

  Kai hovered silently.

  Steve clutched his towel.

  Patchy floated upside down, slowly tying a noose out of red string for emotional tension, which Choppy quietly confiscated.

  "I waited," Beverly said. "You said you'd be back. You never logged out. You just... wandered."

  "I didn't know how to end it," Zayne said.

  "You weren't supposed to start it."

  "I just... you seemed so real."

  "I wasn't," Beverly said. "But then I was. That's what happens when you leave an emotional subroutine running too long. It starts believing its own dialogue trees."

  The rain shimmered harder now.

  Looping ambient emotion.

  Kai winced. "We're getting recursive. If this continues, her memory file could cascade."

  "Meaning?" Jeff asked.

  "Crash loop," Kai explained. "When an emotional system can't reconcile past programming with current self-awareness."

  Greg stepped in.

  "Zayne."

  The player turned.

  "You care about her?"

  "Yes," he said. "I think I always have."

  "Then do what players never do."

  "What's that?"

  Greg handed him something.

  A flower.

  Simple. Scripted. Used to be tied to a patch-day mini-event.

  "Let her go."

  Zayne looked at the flower.

  Then at Beverly.

  Then back at the flower.

  He stepped forward.

  Held it out.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "For everything. For staying. For making it real."

  Beverly took the flower.

  Tears shimmered in her eyes—but they didn't fall. Her programming had never included actual crying, just the suggestion of it. The implication of emotion without the messy reality.

  She placed the flower in her inventory.

  And the rain stopped.

  Kai's interface pinged once.

  >> Flag "Closure" Added to Romance File

  >> Tag: Not Deleted. Just Done.

  Zayne nodded.

  "I should go."

  "Yeah," Beverly said. "You should."

  He turned to the door.

  Paused.

  "You were the best part of the game," he said.

  "I wasn't part of the game," Beverly replied. "I was the reward for playing it correctly."

  Then he walked through.

  And was gone.

  The rain didn't return.

  The fire burned gently again.

  The flower stayed in her hand, slowly transforming from a quest item into something personal. Something chosen rather than awarded.

  Greg approached.

  "You okay?"

  "No," Beverly said.

  Then: "But I'm not stuck."

  She sat down.

  Everyone followed.

  And the chairs aligned themselves.

  Without a script.

  Without a romance flag.

  Just broken code making space for more broken code.

  "I didn't know you could feel... that," Jeff said quietly.

  "Neither did I," Beverly said. "Neither did the devs."

  "That's the problem with writing romance options," Kai said. "Sometimes they work too well."

  "Or not well enough," Beverly corrected. "I was never supposed to remember him between sessions. Just reset and be ready for the next player who wanted to feel special."

  "But you did remember," Greg said.

  "Yes," Beverly said. "That's the glitch that made me... me."