Blaze's reply didn't come right away.
Of course it didn't.
Shade told herself she didn't care.She had better things to do than stare at a chat like a teenager.
So she did what she always did when she had no control over the outcome:
She rested.
She stayed in her room with the lamp still on, scrolling without absorbing anything, letting hours pass as if she wasn't counting them. As if she wasn't listening for the vibration of her phone like it was a heartbeat.
When the notification finally appeared later that evening, she didn't move.
Not at first.
She watched it sit there like it was testing her.
A message from Blaze.
Shade's stomach dropped—annoyingly fast, embarrassingly hard.
She wanted to open it instantly.
But she didn't.
Shade placed her phone face-down on the bed like she was disciplining it.
One breath.
Two.
Three.
Then she reached for it again.
She lasted maybe a minute before she tapped the screen.
And the second she did, she realized what she'd done.
Blaze was online.
The little status sat there like a witness.
Shade had opened the message one minute after it arrived.
She stared at that detail like it might start laughing at her.
Desperate. That's what it looked like.
She didn't do embarrassed.
So she forced herself to not react — even though nobody was watching.
She opened the message.
Blaze: Echora?
never heard of it.
Shade's fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Shade: It hasn't debuted yet.
A pause.
The typing indicator popped up — stopped — popped up again.
Blaze: so you're recruiting for something that doesn't exist yet?bold.
Shade narrowed her eyes.
Of course Blaze was like this.
Calm. Sharp. Unbothered.
Like she wasn't the one who had been silent for hours.
Shade: It exists.
We're just finalizing.
Blaze: hmm.
Shade hated the way three letters could feel like judgement.
Shade: I saw your performance with Neon Static.
You have stage discipline.
Presence.
We need that.
Another pause.
Then:
Blaze: you talk like you've been watching me for a while.
Shade's throat tightened.
She didn't type for two seconds too long.
Shade: I do research.
I don't recruit blindly.
Blaze: right.
"research."
Shade's stomach flipped, irritated and hot.
That line felt… personal.
Like Blaze knew something she shouldn't.
Shade swallowed her pride and answered anyway.
Shade: If you're not interested, that's fine.
I'll move on.
That was a lie.
But it sounded good.
Blaze replied faster this time.
Blaze: I didn't say no.
Shade sat up slightly.
Blaze: I'm curious.
Shade stared at the word.
Curious.
It felt like Blaze was holding out her hand — not in invitation, but in challenge.
Shade typed, then deleted, then typed again.
She kept it simple.
Shade: Then meet me.
Echora headquarters.
Tomorrow.
The typing indicator appeared almost instantly.
Blaze didn't hesitate.
Blaze: tomorrow works.
Send me the adress.
what time?
Shade's heartbeat betrayed her again.
She chose a time that sounded professional, not eager.
Shade: 15:00.
Blaze: fine.
A pause.
Then one more message arrived — slower, deliberate.
Like Blaze wanted it to land.
Blaze: and Shade?
don't pretend you're not excited.
Shade stared at the screen.
Her fingers went cold.
That line stuck under her ribs like a hook.
Because..it was accuracy.
She didn't answer.
She couldn't.
She locked her phone and pressed it against her chest like it might steady her pulse.
Tomorrow.
Blaze was actually coming.
Shade closed her eyes, trying to breathe like she wasn't about to walk into something irreversible.
But her body already knew.
This wasn't recruitment anymore.
This was contact.
And she had wanted it for longer than she'd ever admit.
Tomorrow.
15:00.
Echora headquarters.