Shade learned early that the world rewards performance.
Not the kind with applause—the other kind.
The kind where you measure your smile like a weapon.Where you keep your voice smooth even when your stomach twists.Where you walk out of a room like nothing happened, and the air feels clean only when you're alone again.
That version of her used to be a ghost in black clothes. Grunge. Emo. Sharp edges and safe distance. She had wanted to become an actress back then—because in films, the girl could look a man in the eye and win. She could say no and not be punished for it. She could be loud and righteous and protected by a script.
But real life didn't come with scripts.
Echora did.
When they found her, Shade had assumed it was a joke.
A DM from someone named Nova. Short and direct. No unnecessary compliments, no fake warmth.
We're building something serious.We need someone who can hold a camera.Someone who can hold a scene.Can you act?
Shade remembered staring at the message for a full minute, suspicious.
Then she'd typed back:
Define act.
Nova's reply came fast.
Make people believe you.
That had been the moment Shade decided to show up.
Now, weeks later, she stood in Echora's practice space with her arms folded, listening to the bass thump through the walls like a heartbeat. The room smelled faintly of energy drinks, hairspray, and electricity—the kind of electricity that comes before a debut, before a public reveal, before a new era is born.
On the screen in front of them sat the title card for their upcoming release:
PARANOIA — Heartsteel Cover
A cover, yes… but in Echora's hands it felt like something darker. Something sharper. Something that belonged to them.
Nova paced in front of the screen with a tablet in her hand like a general preparing for war.
"Again," she said. "This time—less movement in the first chorus. Clean. Controlled. If it's messy, it looks amateur."
Her voice never wavered. Nova spoke like she couldn't afford to waste time, like there were deadlines stitched into her bones. Strict. Ambitious. No-nonsense.
Shade liked that.
Maybe it was because chaos had always taken too much from her.Maybe it was because Nova's control felt like safety.
Or maybe Shade just respected anyone who carried their own power like it belonged to them.
Echo—meanwhile—was sitting on a speaker with her legs crossed, looking utterly amused by everything.
Echo didn't carry control. Echo carried mischief.
She tilted her head and smiled as Nova barked instructions like it was the funniest thing she'd ever seen.
"Relax," Echo said lazily. "We're not launching a rocket."
Nova shot her a look so sharp it could've cut glass. "We are launching an image."
Echo grinned wider. "See? Rocket."
Shade didn't comment, but her mouth twitched—almost a smile.
Echo was a tease. Shade had noticed it on day one: Echo liked to prod Nova with little jabs, tiny comments designed to push exactly one button at a time. And somehow, Nova always reacted—jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, patience thinning.
It was oddly intimate.
Shade watched them with the detached curiosity of someone who had studied people her whole life.
Echo always kept an eye on Nova.Not just watching her. Tracking her. The way someone watches something precious… while pretending it isn't.
Shade didn't ask. It wasn't her business.
Besides, Shade liked Echo. Echo made things lighter. Echo made it easier to breathe in a room that otherwise felt like pressure.
Their debut was close.
They were almost ready.
Almost.
Nova turned back to the screen. "We're missing two members."
Echo hopped down from the speaker. "Wow," she said, deadpan. "You don't say."
Nova ignored her. "Two members. Two voices. And someone who can match the performance level."
Shade stayed quiet.
She had been quiet for days about the name sitting inside her skull like a secret.
Blaze.
Shade didn't say it out loud.
Not yet.
Because Shade had already learned that timing mattered. In acting, the pause before the line could be everything. In life… the wrong moment could cost you everything.
And she wasn't done observing.
Shade slipped her phone from her pocket, thumb hovering over the same profile she'd been "accidentally" checking for weeks.
A girl with long blonde hair. Baggy clothes in older posts. Eyes that looked calm even when the world around her wasn't. A voice that could sit behind a track like it belonged there. The kind of voice that didn't beg for attention—because it commanded it.
And in the more recent clips—boxing.
Not for fun. Not for aesthetics.
Real boxing. Real discipline. Real control.
Shade had found the gym by accident, like the universe had dropped it in her lap just to test her.
There were moments, watching from a distance, where Shade forgot to breathe.
Because Blaze wasn't just strong.
Blaze was justice, made physical.
When Blaze knocked down bigger men, Shade felt something inside her that she didn't know how to name yet. It wasn't rage. It wasn't revenge.
It was… relief.
Like the universe finally owed her something—and paid it back in fists and footwork and perfect, composed control.
Shade locked her phone again, the glow disappearing.
Nova's voice cut through the room.
"I'll start scouting," Nova said. "Tonight."
Echo leaned closer to Shade, playful. "Oh? Our fearless leader is going hunting."
Shade's eyes stayed forward. Calm. Neutral. Controlled.
But her mind had already chosen.
Because while Nova talked about scouting, Shade had been scouting long before Echora even knew they needed two more members.
Shade tilted her head slightly, the smallest movement.
Not enough to reveal anything.
Not yet.
Soon, she thought, as the bass echoed through the room.Soon, I'll bring her up.
And when she did—
Nova would listen.
Because Blaze wasn't just a recruit.
Blaze was the missing piece.