The call connected on the third ring.
Shade's entire nervous system braced like impact was coming.
Then Blaze's voice slid into her ear—calm, amused, steady.
"Hey."
Just one word.
And Shade felt it everywhere.
She forced her voice into its most controlled form. Clean. Professional. Safe.
"Hello, Blaze," Shade said. "Thank you for taking the time to talk."
There was a pause on the other end.
Not a bad pause.
A watching pause.
Then Blaze let out a quiet breath that almost sounded like a laugh.
"You sound like you're about to fire me," Blaze said.
Shade froze for half a second.
Then she recovered immediately, as if she hadn't just been stabbed directly through her defense mechanism.
"I'm being professional," Shade said.
"Mhm," Blaze replied, voice warm. "I can hear that."
Shade's jaw tightened slightly.
"You said you're interested," Shade continued quickly, like momentum could save her. "So I'll explain the concept. Echora is a performance-focused project with cinematic storytelling. We're preparing our debut—"
"Paranoia," Blaze said.
Shade stopped.
"What?"
Blaze sounded amused again. "Paranoia. Heartsteel cover. That one, right?"
Shade's stomach dropped.
It shouldn't have surprised her. Blaze had said she'd heard of Echora.
Still… hearing Blaze say it like she already belonged in the room made Shade's brain short-circuit for a moment.
"Yes," Shade managed. "That one."
"Cool," Blaze said simply. "I like it."
Shade swallowed.
"Okay," Shade said, too fast. "Good. Then—your role. We're scouting for two members to complete the lineup. Your voice fits the dynamic. Your discipline stands out. The schedule is strict. Rehearsals are frequent, especially close to release."
Blaze hummed softly.
Shade continued, slipping into her notes like a lifeline.
"We need reliability. We need consistency. We need someone who can—"
"Shade," Blaze said.
Shade stopped again.
"Yes?"
Blaze's voice softened. Not teasing. Not joking.
Just… direct.
"Are you nervous?"
Shade's entire soul left her body.
"No."
Blaze didn't argue.
She just let silence sit there for a moment—comfortable, confident silence.
Then Blaze said, like she was stating a fact about weather:
"You're nervous."
Shade's throat tightened.
"I'm not nervous," Shade repeated, colder now.
Blaze laughed quietly—genuine laughter, not mocking. Like Shade was adorable in a way Blaze didn't even try to hide.
"Okay," Blaze said. "Then why are you holding your breath?"
Shade's fingers dug into the edge of her desk.
"I'm not—" Shade started.
Blaze cut in smoothly. "You are."
Shade blinked hard, furious at herself for being seen.
She forced an exhale, slow and controlled, like she'd meant to do it the whole time.
Blaze's tone shifted again—still calm, but now with something under it.
Something like awareness.
"I'm interested," Blaze said. "You don't have to sell me a dream."
Shade's pulse jumped.
"This isn't a dream," Shade said sharply. "It's a commitment."
"Mhm," Blaze replied. "And I can commit."
Shade went still.
The way Blaze said it—like it was easy, like it was natural, like it wasn't even a question—did something to Shade's chest.
It warmed.
Which was unacceptable.
Shade cleared her throat. "Good. Then—Nova will want to speak to you after this call. She's the leader."
"I figured," Blaze said.
"You'll have to meet expectations," Shade added quickly. "Nova doesn't tolerate laziness."
Blaze laughed again—soft and effortless. "I'm a boxer."
Shade's grip on her phone tightened.
"Yes," Shade said.
There was a pause.
Then Blaze's voice lowered slightly.
"So," Blaze said. "You watched those clips."
Shade's blood turned to ice.
"What?"
"The boxing clips," Blaze said, still calm. "You saw them."
Shade's mind scrambled for footing.
"This is scouting," Shade said instantly.
Blaze hummed, like she loved that answer.
"Right," Blaze said. "Scouting."
Shade heard it.
The tiny smile behind the word.
The part where Blaze clearly didn't believe her—didn't need to believe her—because Blaze was already enjoying the game.
Shade's jaw clenched.
"Is that a problem?" Shade asked.
Blaze's voice softened.
"No," Blaze said. "I like being watched."
Shade's stomach dropped so hard it felt like falling.
She couldn't respond.
For the first time in the call, Shade genuinely lost her script.
The silence stretched.
Then Blaze added, almost lazily:
"Especially by you."
Shade's heart slammed.
Her hands went numb.
Her entire body turned too hot.
Shade forced herself to speak. Forced words out like they were dragged through glass.
"You don't know me."
Blaze's reply came instantly.
"I know enough," Blaze said.
Shade's breath caught.
On the other end, Blaze sounded almost… gentle.
"I know you recruited me," Blaze said. "Not Nova. You."
Shade tried to regain control. "Because I have good instincts."
Blaze's voice turned warmer.
"Mhm," Blaze said. "You do."
Shade hated this.
Not Blaze.
The way Blaze was dismantling her with calm sentences.
The way Blaze sounded like she'd already decided who Shade was, and Shade couldn't stop her.
Shade pressed forward, voice sharp again, trying to reclaim the territory.
"I'll send you the schedule," Shade said. "If you agree, Nova will formalize the offer."
"Okay," Blaze said.
Shade hesitated.
This was supposed to be the end.
This was supposed to be clean.
But Shade's mouth betrayed her, like it always did when the truth got too close.
"…Why did you say yes?" Shade asked quietly.
Blaze paused.
Then Blaze answered with a tone so simple it felt dangerous.
"Because I want to," Blaze said.
Then, after a beat:
"And because you're interesting."
Shade's throat tightened.
Blaze's voice dropped just slightly—as if she was leaning closer to the phone.
"And Shade?"
Shade didn't want to answer.
But she did anyway.
"Yes?"
Blaze smiled into her ear.
"You're not as cold as you think you are."
Shade's entire body went still.
The line hit like a bell.
A clean strike.
A direct hit.
Shade swallowed hard, trying to breathe, trying to think.
"Goodnight, Blaze," Shade said, too fast.
Blaze laughed softly.
"Goodnight," Blaze replied. "See you soon."
The call ended.
Shade stared at her phone screen like it had just confessed something to her.
Her room was silent again.
But Shade's heart was not.
Shade leaned back in her chair, eyes fixed on nothing, breathing shallow, pulse loud.
Echo's words from earlier returned like a curse:
This is the part where the story starts.
Shade whispered to the empty room, voice barely audible:
"…She knows."
And Shade—who didn't do crushes—realized with a terrifying clarity:
Blaze wasn't just joining Echora.
Blaze was stepping directly into Shade's life.