Aetheridge looked softer in daylight.
Shade stepped out of her apartment in a hoodie that swallowed her shape, sleeves pulled down past her wrists. The cross pendant rested against her chest, hidden under fabric but still there.
She avoided eating.If she could drink her meals, she would.
So she made matcha.Warm in her hands, easy to keep down.
Echora's building was only twenty minutes away. A simple walk through crowded streets and glass reflections. She didn't have to clutch the cross as hard during daytime, but her fingers still found it out of habit.
The headquarters was clean. Expensive quiet.
She signed in, nodded at the receptionist, and headed for the stairs.
Elevators were for people who trusted the air around them.
The stairs were a climb — she kept her pace even, counted steps without meaning to, and stopped only at the top to inhale quietly, barely a change in her expression.
The lounge was just beyond a wide corridor: tall windows, city skyline behind glass, a long table scattered with papers and laptops, mugs and notes. The whole place smelled faintly like coffee and printer ink.
She knocked once on the door to the meeting room.
Two beats.
The lock clicked.
Nova opened the door like she'd been waiting for the exact second Shade would arrive.
Her posture was sharp. Her eyes kept score.
"On time," Nova said, stepping aside.
Shade walked in. "Naturally."
Nova closed the door behind her. The room was bright from the windows, but it didn't feel warm. The table was empty except for a single tablet and a pen placed neatly beside it. Nova's kind of neat.
Shade liked that.
Nova didn't sit immediately. She watched Shade for a moment.
"You scheduled fifteen minutes," Nova said.
"That's enough."
Nova's gaze stayed steady. "For what?"
Shade took her phone out.
"I found someone," Shade said.
Nova's face didn't change.
Shade tapped her screen once and turned the phone outward.
A video loaded — stage lights, crowd noise, a beat that thumped through tiny speakers.
Then Blaze appeared.
Even through a small screen, the room shifted.
Her voice rose over the music—low and powerful, confident enough to make people listen even if they didn't want to. Her movement was precise, like she knew exactly where to stand so the camera couldn't look away.
Nova watched without reacting — but Shade noticed the micro-changes anyway.
Nova leaned in slightly.
Nova's eyes tracked the rhythm.
Nova didn't blink much.
When the clip ended, silence sat between them.
Nova exhaled once. "She's good."
Shade kept her tone calm. "She's perfect."
Nova looked up like she was inspecting the source.
"How did you find her?"
Shade answered too quickly. "Online."
Nova didn't move. "Shade."
Shade's jaw tightened — barely.
She hated when people said her name like it was a warning.
"…Research," Shade corrected, a fraction slower.
Nova's stare sharpened. "You don't do anything casually."
Shade's fingers curled around the edges of her phone. "Do you want her or not?"
Nova's mouth twitched like that almost amused her. "I want competence. I want someone who can carry their weight."
"She can."
Nova tilted her head. "That's not what I asked."
Shade didn't look away. "She will."
Nova studied her for another long second, and Shade felt it — that pressure behind the ribs, the feeling of being seen.
Nova sat down at last. The chair barely made a sound.
"Name," Nova said.
"Blaze," Shade replied instantly.
Nova tapped the table once with her finger. "That's a stage name."
Shade didn't hesitate. "It's the name that matters."
Nova stared at her again, like she was deciding whether Shade was being loyal to the group or loyal to the obsession.
"How long have you been watching her?" Nova asked.
Shade's heart did something uncomfortable.
Her voice stayed steady. "Long enough."
Nova didn't look satisfied. "Is she trained?"
Shade paused—just a breath.
Nova noticed.
Shade forced herself to answer like it didn't matter.
"She performs with a small group," Shade said. "Neon Static. She's got two bandmates. Riven on guitar, Knox on rap. She already knows stage discipline. She isn't messy."
Nova's eyes stayed on Shade, not the phone. "So why her?"
Shade didn't want to say it.
Because the real answer wasn't about recruitment.
The real answer was: because Blaze made her feel something.
But Shade didn't do feelings in meeting rooms.
So she gave the version of the truth that sounded clean.
"Echora needs power," Shade said. "We need someone who can hold a room. Someone who can keep up with the aesthetic."
Nova's expression turned thoughtful. "And you're sure she won't interfere with our structure."
Shade didn't like that wording.
Interfere.
Like Blaze was already a threat to the system.
"She won't be a problem," Shade said quietly.
Nova leaned back. "You're sure?"
Shade met her gaze with the calm of a blade.
"Yes."
Another silence.
Nova looked down at the phone again, replayed two seconds of the clip, then stopped it.
Finally, she stood.
"Fine," Nova said.
Shade's chest tightened.
Nova lifted a finger. "Not 'fine' as in accepted. Fine as in considered."
Shade forced her expression to remain neutral. "That's all I'm asking."
Nova's eyes stayed cold. "No. It's not."
Shade frowned slightly.
Nova continued. "If you bring her in, she becomes our responsibility."
Shade's fingers found the pendant under her hoodie without meaning to.
Nova noticed — of course she did.
"You recommended her," Nova said. "So you recruit her."
Shade didn't blink. "Of course."
"And you interview her properly." Nova's voice sharpened. "I want to know her availability. Her reliability. What she expects. What she can contribute. I don't want a star who refuses to work with people."
Shade's answer came fast. "She won't."
Nova stepped closer. "You don't know that."
Shade's mouth opened.
Nova didn't let her speak.
"This isn't a fantasy," Nova said. "This is a group."
Shade felt heat crawl under her skin.
Nova's tone didn't change. "If you want her, prove she fits."
Shade swallowed. "I will."
Nova studied her one last time, and Shade hated how much she respected that honest stare.
Nova nodded once.
Meeting over.
Shade turned to leave—then paused at the door like she'd remembered something.
"I'm not wrong," Shade said, not looking back.
Nova's voice came from behind her, calm as a verdict. "You're rarely wrong. You're just… intense."
Shade's fingers tightened on the door handle.
Intensity was one of the nicer words people used when they meant something else.
She left without replying.
The lounge felt warmer than the meeting room. Less sharp. More breathable. She walked past the tall windows and the skyline, past the scattered papers and the mugs and the quiet chaos of people building something together.
Then she reached the staircase again.
One step.
Two.
A rhythm.
As she descended, the weight of what she'd just done settled into her chest like a stone.
Nova said yes.
Not a full yes.
But enough to make the next part unavoidable.
She reached the lobby and stepped back into daylight.
The city was loud.
She pulled out her phone.
She had Blaze's profile open.
One tap away from contact.
One sentence away from changing everything.
This wasn't the hard part, she told herself.
She could pitch anything and manipulate a room into believing her.
But her thumb hovered above the screen like the number might bite.
Because this was her.
She stared at the chat bar.
Then she exhaled, slow.
And whispered, almost irritated at herself:
"…Okay."
Nova's approval was the easy part — now came the intimidating part.
Contacting Blaze.