Nova scheduled the meeting like it was a military operation.
Location: Echora practice space.Time: 18:00 sharp.Agenda: introductions, vocal assessment, schedule briefing, contract discussion.
Nova didn't believe in "casual hangouts."
Nova believed in structure.
Shade arrived ten minutes early anyway.
Not because she was nervous.
Because she was prepared.
Shade leaned against the wall near the entrance, arms folded, eyes calm. She watched Nova adjust the lighting and camera setup with obsessive precision. Echo, as usual, had ignored every unspoken rule and showed up exactly on time—swinging into the room like she owned the oxygen.
Echo spotted Shade instantly and grinned.
Not a friendly grin.
A predatory grin.
"Oh," Echo purred, voice sweet as poison. "You look stressed."
Shade didn't blink. "I look normal."
Echo sauntered closer, hands clasped behind her back like an angel trying to pretend she didn't bite.
"You cleaned your nails," Echo whispered.
Shade's eyes narrowed. "Go annoy Nova."
Echo's smile widened. "Already did. She told me to behave."
Shade's gaze turned colder. "So behave."
Echo leaned in anyway, delighted.
"I can't," Echo whispered. "This is historic."
Shade didn't answer.
Because her phone buzzed.
A message from Nova.
Nova: She's here.
Shade's stomach dropped.
She didn't move.
She didn't flinch.
She stayed perfectly still, like a statue with a heartbeat trapped inside it.
Then the door opened.
And Blaze walked in like she belonged.
No hesitation. No awkwardness.
Like the room had been waiting for her and she knew it.
Blaze was dressed in black streetwear—simple, confident. Long blonde hair falling over her shoulders like it didn't need permission. Her eyes scanned the room once, quickly, taking in details the way a fighter reads distance.
Then Blaze smiled.
Not big. Not forced.
A small, knowing curve of her mouth—like she'd already decided she wasn't afraid of any of them.
Nova stepped forward immediately, posture straight, tone clipped. "Blaze."
Blaze nodded. "Nova."
Echo whistled softly. "Wow. Iconic."
Nova shot Echo a look.
Echo only smiled, hands raised. "I'm behaving."
Shade remained by the wall, arms folded tight. She didn't step forward.
She didn't need to.
Not yet.
Blaze's gaze moved again—smooth, controlled.
And then it landed on Shade.
Just like that.
Instant lock.
Shade's throat tightened.
Blaze looked at her like she was the only person in the room who mattered.
Like the leader didn't exist.
Like the agenda didn't exist.
Like the cameras didn't exist.
Shade held Blaze's gaze, face blank.
Inside her chest, her heart screamed.
Blaze tilted her head slightly, amused.
"Shade," Blaze said.
Just her name.
Spoken like it was familiar.
Shade forced her voice into calm.
"Blaze."
Blaze's smile deepened a fraction.
Nova cleared her throat sharply. "We'll start with vocal assessment."
Blaze turned to Nova without complaint, stepping into the center of the room with quiet confidence. She took the mic Nova handed her without asking questions. No stage fright. No nerves.
Shade watched closely—too closely.
Nova played the track. The instrumental filled the room, heavy and tense. Blaze listened for a beat, then entered smoothly—voice steady, clean, powerful without pushing.
Not flashy.
Just right.
Shade's fingers curled unconsciously.
Nova's eyes narrowed in approval.
Echo's grin turned smug.
And Shade—Shade felt something settle inside her, deep and certain.
Yes.
This was it.
This was the missing piece.
Blaze finished the section with a soft exhale and handed the mic back like it was nothing.
Nova nodded once. "Good."
Echo clapped dramatically. "Welcome to the cult."
Nova sighed. "Echo."
"What?" Echo said innocently. "It's a compliment."
Blaze glanced at Echo, amused. Then Blaze's gaze returned to Shade—like a magnet snapping back into place.
Nova began briefing the schedule with brisk efficiency, pointing at times, expectations, rehearsal load. Blaze nodded along, absorbing it like it was light work.
Shade should've been listening too.
But Blaze kept looking at her.
Not constantly.
Not obviously.
Just enough.
A glance here. A glance there.
Like Blaze was checking to see if Shade was watching.
Like Blaze knew Shade was watching.
At one point, Nova looked up from the tablet and said, "Shade. You'll assist with onboarding."
Shade blinked, snapped back into the room. "Yes."
Echo made a small noise—half laugh, half cough—like she was choking on joy.
Nova ignored her.
The meeting wrapped. Blaze signed initial interest paperwork. Nova looked satisfied in the way she always did when her plan gained a new weapon.
Echo practically vibrated with excitement.
Then, as Nova packed up equipment, Blaze drifted toward Shade like gravity was optional for her.
Shade's muscles tensed automatically.
Blaze stopped close—close enough that Shade could smell faint soap and clean sweat. Boxer scent. Real scent.
Blaze spoke softly, so only Shade could hear.
"You're quieter in person."
Shade's eyes narrowed. "I'm always quiet."
Blaze smiled. "No."
Shade's stomach twisted.
Blaze leaned slightly closer, voice even softer—almost intimate, almost dangerous.
"You're trying not to stare," Blaze whispered.
Shade's face stayed blank.
Her soul combusted.
"I'm not staring."
Blaze's smile turned wicked.
"You're doing it right now."
Shade's jaw clenched hard. "You're arrogant."
Blaze hummed. "I'm observant."
Shade's eyes flicked briefly to Blaze's mouth before she could stop herself.
Blaze noticed instantly.
Blaze's smile softened, just a little.
Then Blaze stepped back like she hadn't just ruined Shade's entire nervous system.
"I'll see you at rehearsal," Blaze said calmly.
Shade forced her voice steady. "Yes."
Blaze turned to leave, hair swaying, composure untouched.
At the door, Blaze glanced back at Shade one last time.
A slow, knowing look.
Then she left.
The room felt emptier without her.
Shade stayed frozen by the wall like she'd been pinned there.
Echo appeared beside her like a demon.
Echo's voice was a whisper of delighted violence.
"Oh my god," Echo breathed. "You're doomed."
Shade didn't respond.
Echo leaned closer, eyes gleaming. "Did you see the way she looked at you?"
Shade's voice came out low and deadly. "Echo."
Echo grinned wider. "You're so doomed."
Shade finally turned her head slightly, glaring at Echo.
Echo only laughed under her breath like Shade was her favorite show.
Shade looked back at the closed door.
At the empty hallway Blaze had disappeared into.
At the fact that Blaze was now real—real in their space, real in their plan, real in Shade's orbit.
Shade's fingers curled tighter.
Her chest felt too full.
Too loud.
She whispered to herself, barely audible:
"This is strategy."
Echo laughed again, soft and cruel.
Shade didn't even have the energy to deny it anymore.
Because Shade—who didn't do crushes—had just come face to face with the one person who made her lose control…
…and Blaze didn't look like she planned on letting her hide.