// CELESTIAL OPERATIONS CENTER //
// TRANSCRIPT: APERTURE INSTABILITY //
"The dam is at 99% capacity," Gadreel's voice was a tense whisper. The graphic on the main screen showed the concrete structure now veined with pulsing, gold light. "The grounding protocol was a tourniquet. The emotional expenditure of the Carter event has accelerated saturation. The Subject's emotional state is now the primary variable. Joy will overload. Despair will crack it."
Miguel watched the split feeds. J. and Lena were dancing again, closer now, her head resting tentatively against his shoulder. His eyes were closed, a look of pained concentration—not from the dance, but from the effort of staying within himself. On another feed, Pastor Chad had an arm around a shell-shocked Carter, talking intently. On a third, Father Dominic's gaze was a laser.
"The Observer's narrative buffer is being bypassed," Miguel said grimly. "The threats are engaging directly with the evidence—with him. She can't meme away a look."
"Then she must become a physical buffer," Gabriel stated. "Her role transitions from scribe to shield. She must interpose herself. Now."
---
In the swirling gym, Isabella felt the shift. The buffer of words had dissolved. The only thing left was her presence.
She watched as Pastor Chad, having "ministered" to Carter, began a deliberate path across the dance floor toward J. and Lena. He was a shark in a blazer.
Isabella moved on an intercept course. She reached them just as Chad arrived, his smile blinding.
"Joshua! Lena! You two are just lighting up this room!" He had to half-shout. "The way you move together—it's a picture of harmonious connection!"
J. opened his eyes, pulling back from Lena slightly. The peaceful concentration shattered. "Pastor Chad."
"I was just having the most powerful conversation with young Carter," Chad continued, laying a hand on J.'s shoulder. J. didn't flinch, but his posture went very still. "He was really impacted by your words earlier. That moment of… raw honesty. That's the stuff. I'd love to have you both share a bit of that on a livestream. Just a quick word about authenticity?"
Lena looked nervously from Chad to J. Isabella stepped forward, inserting herself between them.
"He's here as a date, Pastor Chad," she said, her voice firm. "Not as a guest speaker."
Chad's smile didn't falter, but his eyes cooled. "Isabella! Always advocating. But this is a moment bigger than just one dance, don't you think? This is about sharing light."
"The light's a little busy right now," Isabella shot back, channeling every ounce of her mother's 'don't-test-me' energy. She hooked her arm through J.'s free one. "Come on, you promised me this dance." She gave Lena an apologetic but urgent look. Lena caught on and nodded.
Isabella pulled a confused but compliant J. onto the dance floor, leaving Pastor Chad with a frozen smile.
"I didn't promise you a dance," J. said as they moved awkwardly.
"Buffer protocol," Isabella muttered, her eyes scanning. She saw Father Dominic now moving toward a corner where some kids were passing a vape pen. His intervention would be a distraction. Good.
"He sees people as content," J. said softly. "He wants to put my pain in a frame with his logo on it."
"He's not wrong about the impact you have," Isabella said. "He's just a vulture about it."
"And the Father?"
"He's a gardener.He thinks we're an invasive species." She looked up at him. His face was sheened with a fine sweat. Not from dancing. "How are you holding up? The… walls?"
He gave a faint, trembling smile. "It feels like… holding a vast, beautiful, heavy animal in my arms. And it's scared."
"The song's almost over," she said. "Just a few more."
The music shifted. A slow, soaring ballad began—the kind that defined memories. The crowd sighed. Couples drew closer.
Isabella saw Lena, waiting at the edge. She gave J. a little push. "Go. Your date."
He looked at her, gratitude and fear warring in his eyes. "Isabella…"
"Go.I'll be right here. Remember the tune."
He moved back to Lena. They came together, and this time, there was no stiffness. Lena wrapped her arms around his neck, he held her close, and they simply swayed, her head tucked under his chin. A picture of perfect, quiet teenage intimacy.
And it was killing him.
Isabella saw it. His eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw clenched. A single tear traced through the sweat on his temple. Not sadness. Strain. The beauty of the moment, the trust in Lena's touch, the simple, overwhelming goodness of it was a pressure his constraints were not designed to hold.
Observation #9 (Critical): Subject is vulnerable to goodness. Love is a higher force than anger. It threatens a total systems overload.
The air around them began to hum. The glittering stars from the projector swirled faster, drawn toward them like iron filings.
Breach Imminent. Tier 3. Empathetic Overload.
Father Dominic turned. His eyes narrowed at the focusing light. Pastor Chad, phone now out, saw the perfect shot. He raised it.
Isabella was moving before she thought. She didn't shout the code.
She walked straight up and tapped J. sharply on the shoulder.
"Cutting in,"she announced, loud and brash.
Both J. and Lena started, blinking. The magnetic pull on the starlight faltered.
Lena, confused but polite, stepped back. Isabella stepped into J.'s space, grabbing his hands and placing them awkwardly on her hips, forcing a loud, clumsy two-step.
"What are you doing?" he hissed.
"Saving you from a halo,"she hissed back, stomping on his foot. "Now look annoyed. Look very, very annoyed at your weird, clingy friend."
He did. The transcendent agony melted into genuine, human irritation. "You're stomping on my feet."
"Good!Focus on that! Focus on the mortification!"
And he did. The terrifying pressure bled away, replaced by the mundane frustration of a botched dance. The stars resumed their random track.
From the side, Father Dominic paused, filing it under "teenage drama." Pastor Chad lowered his phone, frowning at the ruined composition.
The slow song ended with a final, resonant chord.
The DJ's voice boomed out. "Alright, Mesa Verde! That's it! The last song! Make it count!"
The opening synth beats of the final anthem exploded through the speakers.
The last song.
The aperture was wide open.