Nova didn't waste time.
That was the thing about her—once something entered her mind as possible, it became a project. A plan. A target. Nova didn't daydream. Nova didn't fantasize. Nova didn't "wait and see."
Nova decided.
And now Blaze had been placed inside Nova's system.
Shade watched from across the practice space as Nova sat down with her tablet and Shade's phone screen mirrored onto the monitor for everyone to see. The display was too bright against the dark room, casting a pale glow on Nova's face.
Shade's throat tightened.
It was stupid. Ridiculous. It was just a profile. Just clips.
But it felt like someone had opened a diary and placed it on the table.
Echo flopped onto the couch like she'd been waiting for this moment her entire life.
"Ohhh," Echo said, drawing the word out like candy. "Movie night."
Nova didn't respond. She tapped Blaze's profile.
The first clip loaded: shaky backstage lighting, a cheap mic, Blaze laughing off-camera as someone shouted something in the background. Then she sang—just one line, casual, effortless—and the room shifted.
Not because it was perfect.
Because it was real.
The kind of voice that didn't need decoration. The kind that didn't beg to be loved.
Nova watched with an expression that didn't change, but Shade could see it: the tiny recalibration behind her eyes. Like Nova was adjusting the entire debut plan around this new data point.
"Again," Nova said.
Echo snorted. "You're obsessed."
Nova ignored her and replayed the clip.
Then she scrolled.
Another video: Blaze on a street corner, baggy clothes, hair down, the vibe of someone who didn't need to prove she belonged anywhere.
Another: Blaze in a studio, not center stage but still somehow pulling gravity toward her.
Another: Blaze next to the guitarist and rapper—smiling like she was used to being surrounded by noise.
Then the boxing clips.
The first punch landed on-screen with a muffled thud. A glove against pads. Blaze's posture crisp, precise—no wasted movement.
Nova leaned in slightly.
Echo's eyebrows rose. "Oh?"
The clip continued: Blaze sparring someone bigger, heavier. Blaze weaving under a jab, pivoting clean, then striking—quick, controlled, brutal. She didn't rage. She didn't flail. She didn't try to look cool.
She just was.
Nova paused the clip mid-motion. Blaze's eyes were focused. Calm. Almost bored.
"Composed," Nova said quietly.
Shade's pulse jumped like she'd been touched.
Echo glanced at Shade. Just one glance—but it was enough.
Shade stared straight ahead as if she hadn't noticed. As if her heart wasn't suddenly too loud to hide.
Nova resumed the clip and watched Blaze finish the round.
No celebration. No dramatic posing. Just a small exhale. Tape on her wrists. Sweat on her skin. Hair falling over her shoulder like it belonged there.
Echo leaned back, now looking amused in a different way.
"So," Echo said, "she's hot and she can kill someone."
Nova finally looked up from the tablet. "Don't reduce her."
Echo blinked—surprised.
Shade blinked too.
Nova didn't defend people often. Nova didn't waste energy protecting things unless they were valuable.
Echo's smile softened slightly, then sharpened again like she didn't want anyone to see the softness.
"Sorry," Echo said sweetly. "She's hot and she can professionally eliminate someone."
Nova rolled her eyes—barely. It was almost invisible, but Shade caught it.
That tiny crack in Nova's control.
Nova turned back to the clips. "She has presence," Nova said. "And discipline. The boxing helps. Stage energy translates."
Shade's fingers curled slightly at her sides.
It felt like victory.
Not for the reasons Shade wanted to pretend.
Nova tapped the screen again, this time scrolling through Blaze's comments. Engagement. Consistency. Audience retention. The math behind the art.
"Any drama?" Nova asked.
Shade answered before Echo could. "None that I've seen."
Nova's eyes slid to Shade. Sharp. Assessing.
"Why do you know that?" Nova asked.
Shade didn't falter. "Because I research candidates."
Echo coughed into her hand like she was choking on laughter.
Nova didn't laugh. But she didn't question it further either. She simply returned to the clips, thinking.
Then she set the tablet down.
Decision time.
"I want her," Nova said.
The words cut clean through the room like a knife through ribbon.
Echo whistled quietly. "Ooooh. Official."
Shade held her face still.
Still.
Still.
But inside her chest something unfolded—something bright and violent and terrifyingly alive.
Nova looked at Shade. "You're going to contact her."
Shade's breath caught for half a second before she recovered. "Me?"
"You brought her up," Nova said. "You clearly understand her appeal. Make the offer. Send her the draft schedule. We'll negotiate after she shows interest."
Shade nodded like her spine hadn't just turned to electricity.
"Okay."
Echo leaned forward with a grin that looked far too pleased with itself.
"Ohhhh Shade," Echo murmured. "Look at you."
Shade didn't look at her. "Don't start."
Echo's smile widened. "I'm not starting anything."
Shade's eyes narrowed. "Echo."
Echo raised both hands again. Fake surrender. Playful surrender.
"Fine," Echo said. "I'll behave."
Nova stood, clapping her hands once—sharp, commanding. "Good. We move forward. We need her before the debut cut-off."
Echo sighed dramatically. "We just adopted a boxer. This group is becoming so fun."
Nova walked past her without acknowledging the comment.
Then she paused, glancing back just once.
"Shade," Nova said.
Shade straightened automatically. "Yes?"
Nova's voice lowered slightly—not soft, but quieter. More intentional.
"If she's as valuable as she looks—don't scare her away."
Shade's stomach flipped.
Echo's grin turned wicked.
Shade's lips pressed into a thin line. "I won't."
Nova nodded. Satisfied.
And just like that—Blaze wasn't an idea anymore.
She was real.
She was wanted.
She was now written into Echora's future like an inevitable line in a script.
Echo leaned close enough to murmur into Shade's ear like a secret.
"Congratulations," Echo whispered. "Your obsession just became a group project."
Shade's eyes flicked toward Echo for the briefest moment.
A warning.
A promise.
Echo only smiled, delighted.
Shade looked away.
Because in her pocket, her phone felt heavier than before.
Like the weight of a message she was about to send could change everything.
And Shade—who didn't do crushes—had just been handed permission to approach the one person who made her forget the rules.