Nekos Tales

Zoe dropped her bag beside her chair with an exaggerated sigh.

"I've been here for ten minutes."

"And yet," Jasmine replied as she adjusted a palette, "you're still late."

"I am exactly three minutes earlier than call time."

"By normal people standards, sure."

A few nearby artists laughed.

"By Zoe standards?" Jasmine continued. "You should've been here fifteen minutes ago."

Zoe pointed accusingly at her. "You're all determined to make this joke every morning, aren't you?"

"It keeps us entertained."

Before Zoe could answer, one of the production assistants walked over and set a coffee on the counter beside her. Her name was already written neatly across the cup.

"Large mocha cookie crumble," the assistant said. "Extra coffee."

Zoe looked from the cup to the assistant.

"You remembered?"

The woman looked genuinely confused.

"You order the same thing every day."

"I guess I do."

She wrapped both hands around the cold cup, smiling despite herself. It was a small gesture, but there was something strangely comforting about not having to ask anymore. She'd spent so much of her career trying to prove she belonged in every room she entered that moments like this still caught her by surprise.

"Thank you."

"No problem." The assistant shrugged. "Michael actually reminded catering to make sure they had it ready."

Zoe blinked.

"...Michael?"

"Yeah."

Heat crept into her cheeks before she could stop it.

"That's... really sweet."

The assistant smiled.

"Honestly, he didn't have to remind us. We already know your coffee order, your lunch order, your favorite lip balm, and that you cry during every sad dog movie ever made."

Zoe nearly choked on her first sip.

"What?"

A burst of laughter spread through the room.

Jasmine didn't even try to hide her grin.

"You weren't supposed to know that."

"Florence told us."

Zoe let out a dramatic groan and tipped her head back.

"FLORENCE!"

Without missing a beat, Florence's voice echoed from somewhere down the hallway.

"I'D DO IT AGAIN!"

The room erupted into another round of laughter.

A month ago, Zoe would've been mortified. She would've spent the rest of the day replaying the conversation in her head, wondering if she'd embarrassed herself. Instead, she found herself laughing too.

These people weren't laughing at her. They were laughing with her.

Somewhere between early call times, endless rehearsals, and twelve-hour filming days, she'd found something she hadn't expected when she'd signed onto the movie.

She'd found a family.

Almost an hour later, she left Hair and Makeup looking far less like Zoe Bennett and much more like Elara.

The soundstage was already humming with activity when she arrived. Crew members adjusted lights overhead while camera operators made final checks and assistant directors hurried from one department to the next. It was the familiar rhythm before filming began, everyone moving with purpose as the last few pieces fell into place.

Off to one side, most of the cast had already gathered.

Pedro stood in the middle of the group, animatedly reenacting something that had happened during yesterday's shoot. His arms flew through the air as he spoke, each retelling somehow becoming more dramatic than the last. John was laughing so hard he had one hand braced against the back of a chair, while Lupita watched with the long-suffering expression of someone who'd already corrected the story several times.

"Pedro," she said patiently, "you are adding details."

"I am adding context."

"You are adding fiction."

"The audience deserves the full experience."

Giancarlo sat nearby with a coffee, quietly observing the exchange with the amused calm of someone who knew there was no stopping it.

Pedro noticed Zoe before anyone else.

"There she is!"

The enthusiasm in his voice made her hesitate.

"Oh... no."

"There she is!" he repeated, pointing dramatically toward her. "Perfect timing."

She immediately took a step backward.

"I don't like the sound of that."

"You are about to settle an argument."

"I'm actually very busy."

"You haven't even gotten here yet."

"I'll find something."

She turned as if to leave, only for Pedro to lightly catch her arm. Lupita was already smiling, clearly enjoying watching Zoe get dragged into whatever this was.

"Tell her," Pedro pleaded. "Tell her I looked cool yesterday."

"You fell," Lupita answered before Zoe could.

Pedro looked offended.

"It was a tactical fall."

"It was gravity."

The group laughed, and Zoe shook her head, already knowing there was no correct answer.

Before she could say anything, another familiar voice drifted across the set.

"Morning, Z."

She turned to see Michael making his way over, a script tucked beneath one arm and a coffee in his hand. There was an easy confidence in the way he moved through the set, stopping every few steps to greet a crew member or answer a quick question before continuing toward them.

Without realizing it, Zoe smiled.

It was becoming a habit.

"Morning," she replied with a smile.

He studied her for a second before asking, "You survive the weekend?"

She let out a quiet laugh.

"Barely."

"Good."

Zoe raised an eyebrow.

"...Good?"

"If you're exhausted," he said with a shrug, "then I'm not suffering alone."

She stared at him for a beat before shaking her head.

"That's a terrible thing to say."

"I know."

"And you still said it."

"I did."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Worth it."

She laughed, nudging his arm lightly with the back of her hand as she walked past him toward her mark.

Somehow, somewhere between rehearsals, table reads, and endless days spent under hot studio lights, talking to Michael had become... easy. During the first week of filming she'd measured every sentence before it left her mouth, terrified of saying something awkward or sounding inexperienced. Half of every conversation had been spent reminding herself to act normal, while the other half was devoted to pretending she hadn't spent years watching him on screen.

Now the conversations happened without effort. They teased each other. Shared inside jokes. Complained about early call times and impossible shooting schedules. Sometimes they stood together in comfortable silence while the crew reset a scene, neither of them feeling the need to fill every quiet moment.

It was strange how quickly familiarity could erase intimidation.

Every now and then she still caught herself remembering the ridiculous celebrity crush she'd once had on him. Usually it happened when she saw an old interview online or someone mentioned one of his earlier films. Those moments were becoming fewer and farther between. Not because she liked him any less... But because the version of Michael she'd imagined from afar had slowly been replaced by the one standing beside her every day.

The real Michael was funnier than she'd expected. Kinder. Far more sarcastic. He checked in with crew members by name, thanked people who most actors probably walked past without noticing, and never seemed too important to stop for a conversation.

She liked this version better. A sharp clap echoed across the soundstage, drawing everyone's attention toward the monitors.

"Alright, everyone."

Conversations gradually faded as cast and crew turned toward Denis. He stood with his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jacket, waiting until the room had settled before speaking again.

"Let's make a movie."

It wasn't an inspirational speech. There were no dramatic words about art or storytelling. No attempt to rally the room. Just four simple words delivered with the quiet confidence of someone who trusted every person around him to do their job.

Almost immediately the controlled chaos resumed. Crew members returned to their stations, cameras rolled into position, and assistants hurried off to make final adjustments before the first take. Zoe flipped open her script, scanning the highlighted pages she'd already read more times than she could count.

"What are we filming first?" she asked, glancing toward Michael as they walked toward their marks.

He leaned over just enough to glance at her pages before answering.

"Jace arriving at Elara's observatory after the Antarctic mission."

She nodded.

"Right."

The observatory scene.

One of the quieter moments in the film.

After weeks apart, Jace returns from an expedition believing nothing has changed, only to discover Elara has spent those same weeks carrying the weight of discoveries she isn't ready to share. It wasn't an action sequence or an emotionally explosive confrontation, but Florence had described it as one of the scenes where the audience would truly understand why the two characters worked together.

Zoe absentmindedly flipped to the correct page.

She didn't notice Michael watching her for a moment longer than necessary.

A loose curl had slipped free from the braid framing her face, swaying every time she moved. His hand twitched almost instinctively, as if he were about to brush it behind her ear.

The motion stopped before it ever really began. He cleared his throat, dropped his hand back to his side, and looked toward the set instead.

"First, though," Denis called, his voice carrying across the stage, "let's get our big Jace and Elara scene out of the way."

He motioned the two of them forward. The quiet conversations around them dissolved as cameras were locked into position and the crew prepared for the day's first take.

Zoe closed her script with a soft tap against her palm and exchanged a quick glance with Michael.

Then, together, they stepped onto the set—not as Zoe and Michael, but as Elara and Jace once again.

The observatory had earned a reputation for never truly sleeping. While most research facilities emptied after sunset, this one simply changed shifts. Day blended into night beneath banks of fluorescent lights, and the steady hum of servers had long ago replaced silence as the building's natural soundtrack.

Rows of workstations filled the circular operations floor, each one crowded with notebooks, coffee mugs, loose reports, and glowing monitors displaying streams of incoming data from satellites scattered across the globe. One screen tracked atmospheric disturbances over the Arctic Circle. Another displayed a constantly updating star map. A third cycled through fragments of the mysterious transmission that had dominated nearly every scientific discussion for the past month.

Researchers moved between stations with quiet urgency. Some compared handwritten notes to digital models while others debated theories in hushed voices, careful not to disturb colleagues who had spent hours chasing patterns hidden inside thousands of lines of data. It wasn't loud in the traditional sense, but the building was alive. Keyboards clicked almost constantly, printers spat out fresh reports every few minutes, and somewhere deeper in the lab an automated analyzer announced another completed scan with a soft electronic chime.

At the center of it all stood Dr. Elara Vance.

Her workstation looked as though someone had attempted to organize a hurricane. Printed star charts overlapped one another across the desk, sticky notes covered the edge of her monitor, and several open reference books competed for what little space remained. Four empty coffee cups had accumulated throughout the night, while a fifth sat untouched beside her keyboard, forgotten the moment she'd started comparing wave frequencies nearly an hour earlier.

She barely noticed any of it.

Her attention remained fixed on the tablet in her hands as she scrolled through another reconstruction of the signal. Every new algorithm revealed something different. Patterns emerged only to disappear under closer examination, and every answer seemed to generate three more questions.

She rubbed absentmindedly at one tired eye before highlighting another sequence of numbers.

It still didn't make sense.

"Dr. Vance?"

The voice barely registered.

Without lifting her eyes from the screen, she answered automatically.

"I'm busy."

The young technician standing beside her shifted his weight awkwardly. He'd worked with Elara long enough to recognize that tone. It wasn't irritation directed at him personally; it was simply the response of someone whose brain refused to leave the problem in front of her.

"I know," he said carefully, "but there's a military team here asking for you."

That finally pulled her attention away from the tablet.

She lowered it just enough to look over the top.

"A military team?"

The words had barely left her mouth when another voice answered from the entrance.

"We prefer expeditionary task force."

Elara turned.

Commander Jace Calloway stepped through the security doors with the measured confidence of someone accustomed to walking into unfamiliar places. His heavy field jacket had been exchanged for a standard military uniform, but traces of the Antarctic expedition still clung to him. The exhaustion around his eyes couldn't be hidden, and there was a stiffness in the way he carried himself that suggested days of travel and even less sleep.

Sergeant Cole Bennett entered behind him carrying a weathered duffel bag over one shoulder, while Marcus Reed followed with a stack of sealed equipment cases that looked as though they hadn't left his hands since landing.

Their arrival didn't stop the observatory.

Scientists continued working. Technicians kept monitoring incoming data. But conversations softened, and more than a few curious glances drifted toward the entrance.

Everyone knew who they were.

The Antarctic expedition had become the center of speculation after communication with the research station grew increasingly sporadic. Rumors had spread through government agencies and universities alike, each one more dramatic than the last. Whatever had happened beneath the Antarctic ice remained classified, but that hadn't stopped anyone from trying to guess.

Now the people who actually knew were standing in the room. Elara set her tablet down on the desk and folded her arms.

"You disappeared for three days."

There wasn't anger in her voice so much as exhaustion. She'd spent those three days fielding calls from government officials, answering questions she couldn't answer, and defending a research project that had suddenly become the most scrutinized scientific endeavor on the planet.

Jace met her gaze without looking particularly surprised by the greeting.

"We were occupied."

She let out a dry breath that almost resembled a laugh.

"I gathered that."

Cole looked between the two of them before quietly muttering, "Well... this is going exactly how I thought it would."

Jace shot him a brief glance.

Cole immediately found something fascinating on a nearby monitor.

Marcus sighed under his breath, already looking like he regretted being present for whatever this conversation was about to become.

Elara ignored both of them.

Her attention never strayed from Jace.

"What did you find?"

Jace stepped closer to her workstation, his eyes briefly scanning the collection of graphs and signal reconstructions covering her monitors.

"Nothing conclusive."

The answer landed with all the satisfaction of a slammed door.

She stared at him for a moment, trying to decide whether he was avoiding the question or simply choosing his words carefully.

"Commander," she said, keeping her voice level, "you led an expedition halfway across the world to investigate an abandoned research station tied to the very signal we've been studying for weeks. Forgive me if 'nothing conclusive' feels a little... insufficient."

"I didn't say we found nothing." His tone remained calm, almost frustratingly so. "I said nothing conclusive."

The distinction only deepened her frustration.

"You expect me to believe there's no report? No preliminary findings? No evidence worth discussing?"

"I expect you to believe that I'd rather admit I don't understand what we found than pretend otherwise."

That answer caught her off guard. She had expected military bureaucracy. She had expected classified clearances or carefully rehearsed talking points. Instead, she was met with honesty.

Not complete honesty. But enough to make her pause.

Around them, the observatory continued moving, though more slowly now. Researchers still worked, but many had quietly begun listening while pretending not to. A pair of astrophysicists lingered beside a monitor longer than necessary, and someone on the second-floor observation deck had stopped walking altogether.

Everyone was waiting to hear what Antarctica had uncovered.

Unfortunately...

So was Elara.

Before Denis ever had the chance to call cut, the day came to an unexpected halt.

At first, no one seemed entirely sure what had happened.

The take had been moving along with the familiar rhythm every film set eventually settled into. Camera operators followed rehearsed movements around the actors, grips adjusted flags between shots, and assistant directors quietly relayed instructions through headsets while everyone else waited for the inevitable call to reset.

Then something changed. Within seconds, several members of the electrical department were gathered beneath the largest lighting truss, radios crackling as they spoke over one another. A pair of grips wheeled over a ladder while someone farther back disappeared to find another lift. It wasn't frantic, but it was enough to pull everyone's attention away from the scene.

Film sets ran on momentum. The moment that momentum stopped, everyone noticed.

"What happened?" someone asked from behind the monitors.

"No idea."

"It looked like a ballast."

"I thought it was the board."

Rumors spread faster than information ever could.

Pedro, naturally, decided to investigate. He wandered over to the nearest production assistant with the confidence of someone who believed persistence alone qualified as authorization.

"How long?"

The assistant glanced toward the growing cluster of crew members inspecting the rig before giving an apologetic shrug.

"Long enough."

Pedro stared at him for a second.

"...That's not encouraging."

"It's the only answer I've got."

By then Denis had already walked over to confer with the gaffer, listening more than speaking while occasionally glancing toward the set. Whatever they discussed clearly wasn't going to be resolved in the next few minutes.

Eventually he turned back toward the cast.

"Let's take an early break. Stay close, but you've got some time."

The announcement spread through the soundstage almost immediately.

The tightly wound machine that had been operating with military precision slowly unraveled.

Actors disappeared toward their trailers to escape the warehouse lights for a while. Several stunt performers migrated toward craft services with the singular determination of people who had been thinking about food since dawn. Crew members claimed empty apple boxes and folding chairs, opening laptops or scrolling through shot lists while they waited for word to resume.

Without cameras rolling, the warehouse transformed.

The urgency drained away.

For the first time all morning, nobody seemed to be rushing anywhere.

Zoe wandered toward the edge of the soundstage, script tucked beneath one arm. She'd intended to spend the break looking over tomorrow's pages, but by the time she found an empty equipment case to sit on, she realized she hadn't opened it.

Instead, she simply sat.

It was strange how different the stage felt when it wasn't actively making a movie.

Normally every corner buzzed with movement. Lights shifted overhead. Dollies rolled across carefully marked tracks. Crew members called measurements to one another while assistant directors kept one eye on the schedule and the other on the clock.

Now she could actually hear the building itself.

Somewhere high above, metal tools clanged against the catwalks.

A compressor kicked on in the distance before falling quiet again.

The scent of fresh coffee drifted across the stage from craft services, mixing with sawdust from the construction shop and the faint smell of heated cables that seemed to linger inside every soundstage she'd worked on.

But it was... peaceful.

She leaned back slightly, letting her shoulders finally relax.

She hadn't realized how tense they'd been.

"Well."

Michael's voice broke through her thoughts. She looked up just as he lowered himself onto the equipment case beside her with a theatrical sigh, stretching his legs out in front of him before glancing toward the cluster of electricians still gathered beneath the lighting rig.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. They simply watched another lift roll onto the stage.

"I think we broke the movie," he said.

Zoe laughed quietly.

"I'm pretty sure that's not how movies work."

"You've only been doing this professionally for a few weeks."

"And?"

"You don't know all the ways a production can fall apart yet."

She looked toward the crew working overhead.

"...Fair point."

Neither of them seemed particularly interested in checking how long repairs would take.

The break had become an unexpected chance to breathe, and judging by the contented expression on Michael's face, he wasn't in any hurry for it to end either.

Across the warehouse, Florence peeked around a stack of equipment cases with the subtlety of someone who had never once been subtle in her life. She made eye contact with Pedro, pointed toward craft services, then disappeared again. Pedro looked around dramatically before sneaking after her.

Zoe watched the whole exchange unfold with growing amusement.

"What are they doing?"

Michael followed her gaze just in time to watch Florence duck behind another camera cart.

"I don't know."

"They look guilty."

"They always look guilty."

Sure enough, a production assistant walked past a few seconds later, looking around with the unmistakable expression of someone trying to locate two missing actors. Neither Florence nor Pedro was anywhere to be seen.

"They're going to get arrested someday," Zoe said.

Michael considered it seriously.

"Probably."

"They'll blame each other."

"No." He shook his head. "They'll absolutely have matching mugshots."

That image was vivid enough that Zoe burst into laughter.

For several minutes afterward, conversation faded again. Neither of them seemed uncomfortable with the silence. It had become one of the things Zoe appreciated most about spending time with Michael. There was never any pressure to keep talking simply because they were sitting together. Sometimes they chatted for an hour without stopping. Other times they simply watched the controlled chaos around them, each content with their own thoughts.

The quiet felt companionable instead of awkward. Michael rested his forearms on his knees as he watched a lighting technician disappear into the lift basket.

"You know," he said after a while, "I don't think I've ever asked what eight-year-old Zoe wanted to be."

She smiled almost immediately.

"An actress."

"No hesitation."

"There never really was another answer."

"What about the backup plan?"

She thought for a moment, turning the water bottle slowly between her hands.

"A veterinarian."

He looked over at her, surprised.

"Those are... very different careers."

"They really aren't."

She laughed softly, remembering.

"When I wasn't watching movies, I was bringing animals home."

"How many animals are we talking?"

"My parents eventually stopped asking where they came from."

Michael smiled.

"That's usually not a great sign."

"It wasn't."

She looked out across the warehouse, though she wasn't really seeing it anymore, she was seeing home. The smell of cut grass. The way the mocking birds would sing in such a nostalgic tune you didn't hear in the city

"I brought home stray dogs whenever I could. There was a bird with a broken wing once. A rabbit. A turtle after a storm."

He blinked.

"...A turtle?"

"I thought he looked lonely."

He stared at her for a second before laughing.

"I don't think turtles project loneliness."

"I was eight."

She laughed with him, but the memory lingered. Looking back, she realized that little girl hadn't been trying to rescue every animal because she thought she could fix the world. She simply hated seeing anything hurt and walking away. Some parts of people survived childhood unchanged.

Michael seemed to arrive at a similar thought.

"You were one of those kids."

She tilted her head.

"What does that mean?"

"The kind that adopts things."

She rolled her eyes.

"That sounds ridiculous."

Unfortunately... It did.

The conversation drifted naturally from there, meandering through old memories the way conversations often do when there was nowhere else either person needed to be. Childhood stories turned into stories about school, which somehow became disastrous auditions.

When Michael admitted he'd once forgotten every line during an early audition, Zoe laughed so hard she nearly dropped her water bottle.

"You?"

"Oh, absolutely."

"I don't believe it."

He smiled, though there was a trace of sincerity beneath the humor.

"People think confidence comes first."

She looked at him curiously.

"It doesn't?"

He shook his head.

"Most of the time, confidence shows up after you've embarrassed yourself enough to realize surviving embarrassment isn't the end of the world."

The words settled somewhere deeper than either of them acknowledged. They weren't really talking about auditions anymore. By the time someone finally shouted that lighting was back online, Zoe was genuinely surprised to discover nearly forty minutes had passed.

The soundstage slowly came back to life around them. Crew members returned to their stations, camera operators checked their marks, and the familiar energy that had briefly disappeared flowed back into every corner of the warehouse.

A cheer rose from somewhere near the monitors.

"We're back up!"

Michael pushed himself to his feet with an exaggerated groan.

"I think I aged ten years sitting there."

"You make sitting sound physically demanding."

"It is at my age."

She laughed as she picked up her script. Together they started back toward the set, falling into step without thinking about it.

By the time Zoe made her way back toward the meeting point, she'd almost managed to slip back into character.

Almost.

The break was over, and the familiar rhythm of production had begun settling back over the soundstage. Crew members rolled equipment into position, grips called measurements across the warehouse, and Denis stood near the monitors with Pedro and several department heads, quietly discussing a few final adjustments before they resumed filming.

Actors drifted back from trailers and craft services in small groups, conversations fading as scripts reopened and focus returned to the day's work.

For a brief moment, Zoe thought she might make it back unnoticed. She should've known better. Florence stepped neatly into her path, phone already in hand, wearing the unmistakable smile of someone who had discovered something she couldn't wait to share.

It looked less like coincidence and more like she'd been waiting.

"No," Zoe said immediately.

Florence didn't argue. Instead, she simply held the phone a little higher making Zoe sigh.

"You didn't even tell me what it is."

"I don't have to."

Against her better judgment, Zoe stepped closer. The moment the video started playing, recognition settled in.

It wasn't new. Or rather, the footage wasn't.

She recognized every clip almost instantly. Interviews from the miniature press tour they'd done two weeks earlier. Behind-the-scenes footage released by the studio. Short promotional videos filmed between setups. Even candid moments captured while the cast had been waiting for cameras to roll. None of it was private. Yet stitched together like this... It became something entirely different.

The editor had slowed certain moments by fractions of a second, lingering just long enough on a smile or a glance that it seemed to carry meaning it never had in real life. Music swelled underneath conversations that originally hadn't even had background audio. A laugh from Michael faded into silence before cutting to Zoe smiling in another interview recorded days later.

Separate moments. Separate days. Separate conversations.

Now presented as one continuous story.

Zoe frowned.

"I don't understand how there are this many."

Florence was already scrolling toward another edit. "The algorithm figured out people like watching you two together."

"That doesn't explain..."

"It actually explains almost everything."

She shrugged.

"Once social media decides two people have chemistry, that's basically your personality now."

Zoe leaned back against a stack of equipment cases, watching another edit begin. The comments fascinated her almost as much as the videos. Not because she believed them. Because thousands of complete strangers somehow believed they knew her.

THE WAY HE LOOKS AT HER...

YOU CAN'T FAKE THAT.

THIS STOPPED BEING ACTING WEEKS AGO.

One account had uploaded a twelve-minute compilation titled Evidence They Fell in Love Between Takes. Another had slowed down the simple act of Michael handing her a bottle of water until it resembled a scene from a romance movie. Someone else had analyzed eye contact.

There were arrows. Charts. Slow-motion replays.

Zoe blinked.

"...These people have entirely too much free time."

Florence laughed.

"They're committed."

"I feel like I should be offended."

"Are you?"

"I honestly haven't decided yet."

She looked back toward the set. Crew members were testing the repaired lights now, and overhead fixtures blinked on one row at a time. Electricians called down measurements from the catwalks while assistant directors slowly gathered everyone back toward first positions. Everything looked normal, yet somehow it wasn't. Only a few minutes earlier, the soundstage had felt comfortably isolated from the rest of the world. Just a building full of people trying to make a movie.

Now Zoe couldn't stop thinking about the audience beyond those walls. Millions of people watching interviews and zooming in on expressions. Building entire stories out of moments she'd barely remembered happening.

Footsteps approached from behind. And Zoe? She smiled before she'd even turned around. That realization alone made her pause.

"You found her."

Michael's voice carried the quiet amusement of someone who already knew exactly what Florence had been doing.

Florence grinned. "Oh, we found much more than her." Michael stepped beside Zoe and glanced toward the phone.

Curious more than concerned. Without thinking, he leaned in to get a better look. His shoulder brushed hers as he did, and because she hadn't been expecting him to stand quite that close, Zoe suddenly became very aware of the warmth radiating from him. She could feel his breath near her ear as he rested his chin lightly against the top of her shoulder to see the screen.

It was such an innocent gesture. Probably one he'd made a hundred times with castmates over the years. Unfortunately, her heart didn't seem interested in being reasonable about it. She focused very hard on the phone. Or at least she tried to.

"Oh," Michael said after a second. "They're still using that clip."

Zoe turned toward him.

"...Still?"

"Yeah."

He sounded almost thoughtful. "I think this one's been circulating for a couple weeks." He took the phone from Florence with surprising familiarity, scrolling through the edits as though he were looking through movie trailers.

"I've seen this version before," he said. "Different music, though. They changed the audio."

Zoe stared at him.

"...Michael."

"What?"

"That is not the point."

He looked up from the screen.

"What's the point?"

She opened her mouth. "The point is..." She hesitated.

Saying it aloud somehow made it feel more real.

"...they think..."

Her voice trailed off.

Michael finished the sentence for her.

"They think we're dating."

She nodded once.

"And?"

"And doesn't that bother you?"

He considered the question honestly before handing Florence her phone back.

"It used to."

Zoe blinked watching how he slipped his hands into his pockets.

"When you've been doing this long enough, people start deciding who you are without asking."

He said it matter-of-factly rather than bitterly.

"Some days I'm secretly married. Other days I'm apparently feuding with half of Hollywood."

A small smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.

"There was a month where the internet became convinced I'd been replaced by a CGI double."

Despite herself, Zoe laughed.

"You're kidding."

"I wish I was."

He gestured toward Florence's phone.

"This is relatively harmless."

She wasn't entirely convinced.

"But..."

She looked back at another edit beginning to play.

"They think we're in love."

Michael shrugged lightly. "They think a lot of things." His expression softened just enough for her to realize he wasn't dismissing her feelings. He was trying to reassure her. "The trick is remembering they don't actually know us."

The words stayed with her. Because he was right. Every person commenting beneath those videos believed they were watching real life unfold.

In reality... They were watching carefully selected moments removed from their original context and rearranged into whatever story fit best. It was strange how easily reality could become fiction.

"Well," Florence announced, still entirely too pleased with herself, "good news."

"There is absolutely no good news coming after that sentence."

"They made a reaction compilation."

Zoe groaned.

"Oh, no."

Michael smiled.

"I kind of want to see it."

"I am surrounded by traitors."

Neither of them denied the accusation. Before another video could begin, an assistant director called across the soundstage.

"Final positions, everyone!"

Actors drifted back toward their marks while cameras rolled into place for the next setup. Florence tucked her phone into her pocket with obvious reluctance.

"We'll continue your internet education later."

"I was happier before my internet education."

"I know."

Michael fell into step beside Zoe as they started toward the set. For several moments, neither of them spoke. Zoe's mind kept drifting back to those edits. How easily a lingering glance became longing. How a smile became evidence. How strangers could build an entire love story from ordinary moments between coworkers.

She wasn't sure what unsettled her more.

That so many people believed it... Or that, after today, she wasn't entirely certain where performance ended and reality began.

A few more weeks passed before the studio called everyone back for another round of promotional work. By then, the internet hadn't moved on. If anything, it had only become louder.

Every behind-the-scenes photo that leaked seemed to spark another wave of edits. Every interview produced a dozen new compilations dissecting expressions, body language, and conversations that had never meant anything beyond coworkers talking between takes.

The strange part was that they hadn't even filmed the romance yet.

Zoe tried not to imagine what would happen once those scenes inevitably found their way online. She shoved the thought aside as she stepped into the photography studio.

The space couldn't have been more different from the soundstage. Instead of towering sets and camera tracks, seamless white backdrops stretched across one end of the room while massive softboxes bathed everything in bright, even light. Light stands crowded the floor, cables snaked between equipment carts, and several photographers moved around the space discussing lenses and shot lists with the marketing team.

Someone adjusted a reflector. Another checked images on a monitor. Hair and makeup artists floated between cast members making last-minute fixes before each setup. Zoe knew enough about filmmaking now to recognize how much work went into making something appear effortless.

The morning began exactly the way she'd expected.

Individual portraits. Small cast groupings. A few playful behind-the-scenes videos for social media. Nothing unusual or made her think twice. She relaxed into the routine, focusing on the technical side of it. Find the light. Hold the pose. Wait for direction. It was familiar enough that she almost forgot about the internet entirely...Almost.

"Can we get Zoe and Michael together for a few?"

The request came so casually that it took her a second to realize they'd been talking about her. She glanced toward the photographers.

"...Me?"

Before she'd even finished speaking, Michael had already wandered over, slipping naturally into position beside her. It was such a practiced movement that she suspected he'd done hundreds of promotional shoots over the years.

"Perfect," one of the photographers called.

The first shutter clicked.

Then another.

"Just relax."

Click.

Neither of them spoke as they simply stood beside one another while the photographers circled, adjusting angles and checking monitors. Nothing about it felt romantic. They weren't touching, weren't posing dramatically. Just simply standing shoulder to shoulder.

"Turn toward each other just a little."

They did.

Click.

"Good."

"Michael, lean in a touch."

He shifted without hesitation.

"Perfect."

Click.

Zoe felt her shoulders stiffen before she could stop herself.

Not because Michael had moved closer or because she was uncomfortable around him. Because she could already see what would happen after these photographs left the studio. She could picture the screenshots. The slowed-down videos. The captions insisting that every glance meant something.

"Relax your shoulders, Zoe."

She blinked coming back to reality. She saw Michaels concerned look but she looked away to give a apologetic smile.

"Sorry."

"It's okay. Perfect."

Click.

The morning continued that way. They were separated for larger cast photos, then rearranged again. Moved into different combinations. Every so often someone would pause, study the monitor, then quietly ask for Zoe and Michael to stand together again.

No one made a big deal of it. No one even commented how good they looked together. But when taking a break she overheard snippets of conversation drifting from behind the cameras.

"The engagement numbers are crazy."

"The fans really latched onto those two."

"We should probably get a few vertical shots too."

Nobody lowered their voices as it wasn't like they were gossiping. They were just discussing marketing. But all of it caused realization to settle uncomfortably in her stomach.

The studio knew. Of course they knew. They tracked engagement. They watched trends. If audiences responded to something, it became part of the campaign.

It wasn't personal. It was just business.

"One more with just the two of you," the lead photographer called.

"Something relaxed."

Michael stepped back into position beside her. This time he stood close enough that their shoulders almost touched.

"Perfect."

Click.

He leaned slightly toward her. Not enough to invade her space. Just enough to fit the frame.

Click.

Zoe stared toward the camera, trying to keep her expression neutral. The lights flashed again. Her thoughts drifted somewhere else entirely. She saw Florence holding up her phone. She heard strangers insisting they could tell who was secretly in love. She imagined these photographs joining that endless stream of evidence.

A movement beside her pulled her back. Michael had shifted almost imperceptibly.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, keeping his smile toward the camera so only she could hear.

She hesitated and tried to look anywhere but him.

"...Yeah."

He looked at her for a second, as though deciding whether he believed the answer. Then the photographer called for another pose, and the moment disappeared. He didn't press. He simply stayed beside her until the session ended.

"That's a wrap on this setup."

The lights dimmed slightly as photographers lowered their cameras.  Zoe lingered near the backdrop longer than she'd intended. Not because anyone had asked her to stay. Because she couldn't quite shake the feeling that the version of herself captured in those photographs already belonged to someone else.

Across the room, Michael stood talking with a producer, nodding as they discussed the afternoon schedule. He looked exactly as he always did. Untouched by everything racing through her head. She hated the intrusion that creeped through her, hated how she felt sick knowing she was working herself up over nothing...

They didn't speak again until they were walking back through one of the quieter hallways connecting the photography studio to the production offices.

The bustle of the photoshoot faded behind them, replaced by the softer sounds of the building settling into its afternoon routine. Someone pushed a wardrobe rack through a distant corridor. A pair of assistants hurried past carrying boxes of promotional materials before disappearing around the corner.

For several moments, neither of them said anything.

"You've been quiet," Michael observed.

She almost smiled at that but didn't

"I've been quiet all day."

"Not like this."

She glanced sideways at him. There wasn't any teasing in his voice just quiet observation. They turned into a hallway that was nearly empty, and without really meaning to, Zoe slowed to a stop which made Michael do the same. She folded her arms loosely across her chest, more out of habit than defensiveness.

"I saw those edits again today."

He nodded once.

"I figured."

"I don't think I understood them before."

She looked down the hallway rather than at him.

"At first they were just... weird."

A small laugh escaped her.

"Kind of funny, honestly." She shook her head. "But now..."

She searched for the right words.

"It feels like people are writing a version of my life while I'm still living it."

The sentence hung between them. She frowned hating how it came out.

"That sounded dramatic."

"No," Michael said quietly.

That made her look up. He leaned back against the opposite wall, folding his arms as he considered the floor for a moment before speaking again.

"When Creed came out," he said, "I couldn't walk into a grocery store without someone deciding they already knew me."

He smiled faintly, though there wasn't much humor in it.

"Not because they knew me."

"Because they'd decided who I was."

Zoe listened.

"You spend months making something because you love the work." He glanced down the hallway. "Then it comes out... and suddenly it belongs to everyone else."

He wasn't bitter. If anything, he sounded thoughtful.

"They'll argue about your intentions. They'll tell you what you meant. They'll even build stories from moments you don't even remember happening." A quiet breath escaped him. "And none of them will ask."

Zoe felt something inside her loosen. Not because he'd solved the problem. Because someone finally understood it.

"I keep thinking..." she admitted, "what if I stop recognizing myself inside all of it?"

Michael didn't answer immediately. Instead, he took a few slow steps down the hallway before turning back toward her.

"I've asked myself that too."

The honesty surprised her and it was nice that he wasn't offering rehearsed advice.

"You don't get used to it," he said. "You just learn that other people's versions of you don't have to become your own."

Silence settled between them. This one wasn't uncomfortable...It was thoughtful.

"I don't want to disappear into it," Zoe admitted.

"You won't." His answer came so simply that she almost missed it.

Not because he knew the future, he simply believed she was the kind of person who would keep hold of herself.

Somehow... That mattered.

A voice echoed faintly from somewhere deeper in the building, calling people toward dinner. Michael pushed away from the wall and smiled.

"Come on." She looked at him. "Let's go eat with everyone."

He gestured toward the hallway behind him.

"You've spent enough time inside your own head for one afternoon."

This time, when Zoe laughed, it came easily. As they walked back toward the rest of the cast, the noise of the studio gradually returned around them—the conversations, the rolling equipment, the familiar energy of people making a movie.

Nothing about the internet had changed. The edits would still be there. The speculation would still continue. But as she stepped back into the organized chaos of the studio, Zoe realized she could finally breathe again.

Not because the noise had disappeared. Because, for the first time since Florence had handed her that phone, it no longer felt louder than her own voice.

The restaurant wasn’t far. Close enough that no one bothered with transport, just a slow walk through streets that felt noticeably less artificial than the studio had. The air outside was cooler, heavier in a way that made Zoe realize she’d been holding tension in her shoulders for most of the day without noticing.

Inside, the atmosphere shifted immediately.

Noise replaced silence. Warm light replaced studio brightness. Conversations layered over each other instead of instructions and cues. It wasn’t production anymore. It was just people.

Someone claimed a large table without much discussion. Bags were dropped, jackets thrown over chairs, menus picked up and immediately ignored in favor of talking.

Zoe ended up seated between two of the supporting cast members, though she barely noticed at first. The transition from set to real life still hadn’t fully settled in her head. She kept waiting for someone to call “reset,” or adjust her position, or ask for another take.

Instead, someone told a story about a wardrobe malfunction during their first week of filming, and the entire table broke into laughter. That was when Zoe realized this was different.

This was people, real people outside of what people viewed them as.

Michael was across from her, leaning back in his chair with an ease that seemed almost unfair given how tightly structured the day had been earlier. He listened more than he spoke at first, laughing when he needed to, adding a comment here and there that made the table laugh harder than whatever had been said before it.

Zoe found herself watching that more than she intended. She was noticing how little effort it took for him to exist comfortably in spaces like this. At some point, someone brought up the earlier shoot in passing.

“Those photos are going to be everywhere tomorrow,” one of the cast members said, half amused, half resigned.

A few people laughed. Zoe felt her stomach tighten slightly before she could stop it.

Then someone added, “The studio’s going to love it. Especially after those edits online.”

That earned a wave of groans and jokes around the table. Michael didn’t react beyond a small smile, like it was just another layer of the job. Zoe tried to follow his lead and it mostly worked. The conversation moved on quickly after that, as conversations at dinner usually did. Food arrived. Plates were passed. Someone started arguing about whether a scene from earlier had been improvised or not, and the table devolved into playful disagreement.

The energy was light. Unforced in a way Zoe hadn’t fully expected.

Across from her, Michael watched the conversation shift and break and reform. Then, at some point, his attention drifted toward her instead of the table.

“You’re different outside set,” he said quietly enough that it didn’t interrupt the group.

Zoe blinked. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” he said immediately. “Just… noticeable.”

She hesitated, unsure what exactly he meant until he added, “You were a lot more tense during auditions.”

That made her pause. That version of herself that had walked into rooms trying to convince people she belonged there.

“I was trying not to mess it up,” she said.

Michael nodded once, like that made complete sense. “Yeah. I remember.” He gave a small shrug. “It’s hard not to notice when someone’s thinking that hard.”

Zoe looked down at her glass for a moment.

“I don’t think I’m doing that now,” she admitted.

“You’re not,” he agreed.

There wasn’t judgment in it. Just observation.

The table erupted in laughter again as someone retold a story more dramatically than necessary, and the moment between them didn’t linger in a way that drew attention. But it stayed. Zoe found herself leaning back slightly in her chair, listening without bracing herself for it. The conversation around her felt easier to follow now that she wasn’t actively measuring herself inside it.

At one point, someone across the table joked about the earlier photoshoot.

“If the internet gets hold of those,” they said, grinning, “we’re all done for.”

A few people laughed.

Michael leaned forward slightly, amused. “They already did.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” he said simply. “It’s already happening.”

The table collectively groaned. Zoe expected that familiar tightening again, the one she’d started associating with that conversation. But it didn’t fully come instead, she felt something softer settle in its place. The sense that whatever was happening online wasn’t the whole of what was happening here. Michael caught her expression briefly, just for a second, before turning back to the conversation. And Zoe realized, with a clarity that surprised her, that he wasn’t performing relaxation the way she sometimes still was.

He just lived in it. The dinner continued around them with laughter, interruptions, half-finished stories, shared food passed across the table without thought. And somewhere in the middle of it, Zoe stopped feeling like she was trying to keep up. For the first time that day, she wasn’t thinking about how she was being seen. Just how it felt to be there.

Later that night, the world felt quieter in a way that almost didn’t seem real.

Not silent. Never silent. The city outside her window still carried its distant traffic, its occasional bursts of laughter, its low hum of life continuing without pause. But inside her apartment, everything had slowed down enough for Zoe to hear herself think again.

Dinner had ended hours ago. People had drifted off in different directions, promising to meet again tomorrow on set, still laughing about something someone had said at the table. The warmth of it had followed her out into the night and then gradually thinned into memory as she walked home alone.

Now she was on her couch, phone in hand, scrolling without intention. It wasn’t curiosity so much as habit. A way of checking what version of the world she was living in.

That was when she saw it. The studio’s official account.

A single still image from Black Horizon.

Jace and Elara.

The lighting was perfect in a way that didn’t feel accidental. Soft but controlled, cinematic without trying too hard. Jace stood slightly turned toward Elara, his expression unreadable in the way the character demanded. Elara faced him fully, eyes lifted just enough to suggest something unspoken between them.

It wasn’t a romantic image in isolation.

But it didn’t need to be.

Because the internet didn’t look at isolation. It looked at possibility.

Zoe stared at it longer than she meant to. Then refreshed once. Then again.

The post had already spread fast.

Comments stacked beneath it in a constant stream that didn’t seem to slow down.

I already love them.

The chemistry is insane.

This casting is perfect.

WHEN DOES THIS MOVIE COME OUT??

This is going to ruin me emotionally and I’m here for it.

Zoe exhaled slowly, thumb hovering over the screen without moving. It was strange, seeing herself like that. Not Zoe. Not the person who had sat on an equipment case earlier that day trying to understand where she ended and the framing around her began. Elara. Someone who belonged inside a story that was already being accepted before it had even fully arrived.

Her phone vibrated as a new message appeared at the top of the screen.

Michael: Looks like people approve.

Zoe stared at it for a moment longer than necessary.

The timing wasn’t surprising anymore. It felt like he existed in the same current she did now, just on the other side of it. Still connected, still aware, but somehow less burdened by the weight of how everything was being interpreted.

She typed, paused, erased, then finally settled on something simple.

Zoe: Apparently.

A few seconds passed. Then the three dots appeared.

Michael: You okay?

That question landed differently than it would have earlier in the week. Zoe leaned back into the couch, phone resting loosely in her hand as she looked again at the image on her screen. Jace and Elara. Frozen in a moment that didn’t exist outside the frame, already belonging to millions of interpretations she would never see in full.

She thought about dinner. About laughter that hadn’t needed translation. About how, for a few hours, she hadn’t felt like she was being assembled into something. Then she thought about earlier still. The photoshoot, The edits, The hallway conversation where something had shifted without either of them naming it.

Zoe: Yeah. I think so.

Michael: Good.

A few more workers turned their attention toward him. Elias never minded talking about Samantha. Matter of fact, he looked for any excuse to do it.

"The war's got everybody talkin'," he said. "And if I get called up, I ain't leavin' without tellin' her how serious I am."

His smile softened. "Figure after I come home, I'll make her my wife." There wasn't a hint of doubt in his voice. To Elias, it wasn't a question of if. Only when. And truth be told, half the Delta probably knew he loved Samantha Irwin. If only Samantha knew just how often he talked about her.

"Achoo!" A sneeze echoed through the woodline as Samantha rubbed at her nose with the back of her hand, scrunching her face.

"That's another sneeze, Samantha." Annie's voice carried a hint of amusement as she knelt nearby, using a small knife to loosen the dirt around a cluster of roots.

"I know," Sam muttered with a sniffle. "I think Elias is talkin' about me again."

A smirk tugged at Annie's lips at that statement as it was most likely the case knowing that boy.

"Knowin' him? He probably is."

Sam couldn't help but smile.

"Now come on," Annie continued. "Let's hurry up and get us some more John the Conqueror root before the sun starts droppin'."

Sam nodded and returned to digging.

The two women had spent most of the afternoon wandering the woods not far from Annie's cabin, gathering roots, herbs, and whatever else the season offered. Over the last few months, Samantha had taken a genuine interest in Hoodoo. Annie, patient as ever, had gladly taken her under her wing, teaching her everything she'd learned from the elders who'd taught her before.

Some lessons though came easier than others.

"This root is stubborn as a mule," Sam sighed as she gripped the thick root with one hand while carefully scraping away dirt from around its edges. Annie couldn't help but chuckle.

"It is. That's why folks value it so much."

With one final tug, the root finally gave way from the earth and Sam nearly fell backward with it.

"There you go."

Annie nodded approvingly.

"That's a good one too."

Sam brushed the dirt from it and set it aside with the others they'd gathered. "What're we needin' so much of it for anyhow?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

Annie's smile softened as a sadness twinkled in her eyes.

"For a mojo bag." Sam's hands paused. "For our boys."

The words settled heavily between them. The war. No matter how much folks tried to avoid talking about it, it seemed to find its way into every conversation these days. Sam looked down at the root in her hands and she hated it. Hated hearing about Europe, hated hearing about drafts, hated hearing grown men talk about trenches and battles as if they were discussing the weather.

Most of all, she hated the thought of Elias and Elijah leaving. The idea terrified her. Maybe Annie had seen that fear written across her face weeks ago. Maybe that was why she'd suggested they make the bags. Something for them to hold onto. Something they can believe in. Annie carefully wrapped another root in cloth.

"It'll help keep 'em safe," she said quietly. "From sickness, bad luck, danger. Anything that might be waitin' on 'em over there."

Sam swallowed.

"I hope so."

Annie glanced over when Sams voice wavered

"It will."

There was a certainty in her voice that made Sam want to believe her. After a moment, Sam reached down and pulled another root from the ground. It was a really large one. Bigger than any she'd found all afternoon. The sight of it made Annie let out a laugh.

"Mercy, that's a decent size."

Sam looked down at it.

"You must want Elias to live forever."

A blush immediately crept into Sam's cheeks.

"Annie."

"What?" Annie grinned. "Ain't tellin' no lies."

Sam shook her head, trying and failing to hide her smile. Truth was, Annie wasn't wrong. If she could have given Elias forever, she would've. The Moore twins had already endured more than most men their age. They deserved long lives, peaceful lives. But Elias... Elias deserved everything. A warm home, A family, A future, And as Sam looked down at the root resting in her hands, she silently prayed that whatever waited across the ocean wouldn't take any of that away from him.

A few hours passed, and by the end of it, they had gathered enough roots to supply an entire platoon of soldiers. The sound of a car pulling up near Annie's cabin broke the peaceful quiet of the woods.

"Looks like the boys finally finished work for the day," Annie said as she rose to her feet, brushing dirt from her skirt before offering Sam a hand up.

Together, they made their way back toward the cabin. Sure enough, the Moore twins were waiting beside the car. Sam's eyes immediately found Elias. And Lord have mercy. The Delta heat had left his shirt damp with sweat, his sleeves rolled up, and his dark curls stuck to his forehead. He looked like he'd spent the entire day working under the sun—and somehow that only made him more handsome. Sam quickly shoved those thoughts aside before they could get her into trouble.

"Oh, look at my dirty girl!" Elias laughed as he strode toward her with his arms spread wide.

"Speak for yourself, Mister."

Sam planted a hand against his chest to stop him. It didn't work. Elias wrapped his arms around her anyway, pulling her into a hug despite her protests.

"Elias Moore!"

He only laughed harder.

"Been missin' you all day."

"Boy, you're gettin' sweat all over me!"

Her complaint dissolved into laughter as he squeezed her tighter. The sound only seemed to encourage him.

"Now we're matchin'."

"That's not how that works."

"Sure it is. I'm sweaty and now you are!"

Sam shook her head, trying—and failing—not to smile. Somewhere behind them, Elijah groaned.

"Y'all are disgustin'."

"Mind your business," Elias called back.

Annie couldn't help but let out a laugh. By the time Sam looked over her shoulder though, both Elijah and Annie were already heading toward the cabin. The front door closed behind them moments later. Sam narrowed her eyes.

"Uh-huh. And we are disgusting" Elias grinned while nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck

"Looks that way."

"Betrayed by my own people."

"You'll survive ya got me." His voice softened as he reached for her hand.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the yard, and the sounds of cicadas drifted through the trees and Sam squeezed his hand.

"You finished all your work?"

"Barely. Elijah spent half the day complainin'."

"I find that hard to believe."

"You're right. He spent the whole day complainin'."

That earned another laugh from her. Elias smiled at the sound. Truth be told, he could listen to Samantha laugh for the rest of his life and never grow tired of it.

"Come on," he said. "Lemme get you home."

Sam glanced back toward the cabin. She still wanted to finish making those mojo bags, but judging by the timing, Annie had likely decided the work could wait until tomorrow.

"Fine," she said.

Then she pointed a finger at him.

"But you're takin' a bath before any funny business."

Elias rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Don't 'yes ma'am' me."

"I was agreein' with you."

"You were bein' smart."

"That's one of the many reasons you love me."

Before she could argue, Elias opened the passenger door for her with an exaggerated bow which made her shake her head, fighting back a smile as she climbed inside. Some things, she figured, were never going to change. She should've known he wasn't planning on taking her straight home. Even now that they lived practically next door to one another, Elias always found a reason to steal a little extra time together.

Sure enough, the road curved away from town and toward the lake. Their lake. Maybe other folks knew about it, but whenever she and Elias came here, it felt like the rest of the world disappeared. Just water, trees, and the quiet hum of the Delta settling into evening. The car rolled to a stop beneath the shade of a large cypress tree. As Sam stepped out she glanced over at him with a smirk.

"Are you plannin' on bathin' in here?"

Elias chuckled as he pulled his shirt over his head.

The sight immediately made her smile fade. The scars. They stretched across his back, pale and jagged against sun-darkened skin. Time had softened them, but it hadn't erased them. Nothing ever would when the memories were there and the reminders. Her chest tightened when she looked at them and without thinking, she stepped closer and gently traced her fingertips across one of the old marks.

The touch made Elias go still as a small shiver ran through him. Though he never pulled away he also never talked about them either. The scars were a reminder of a night neither of them liked remembering. Of the pain his father put him and Elijah through, of how close her Elias would of not been here today if not for Elijah.

"Elias..."

He turned toward her and the moment he saw the look in her eyes, his expression softened.

"Baby."

He reached for her hands and lifted them to his lips, pressing a kiss against her knuckles trying to make her forget seeing them, but it only made Sam sigh softly while looking at him.

"You always do that."

His brow furrowed.

"Do what?"

"Try to distract me whenever I touch 'em."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The breeze stirred across the lake, carrying the scent of water and damp earth as Sam squeezed his hands in hers while stepping closer to him.

"You don't gotta hide from me."

Elias looked down briefly before meeting her gaze again. Because he knew what she meant, she never looked at those scars with pity. Never saw them as a weakness because to her, they were proof he survived and he endured. A faint smile touched his lips because he knew...This was his girl, no one could make him feel as light like her.

"You worry too much."

"And you don't worry enough."

That earned her a quiet laugh from him. Then his hand rose to cup her cheek. The familiar warmth of his palm made her lean into it instinctively and softly sigh out.

"You know I love you for that, right?" His words came softly but held so much honesty that it made Sam's heart stumble

Even after all these years, he could still do that to her. A small smile tugged at her lips as she nodded against his hand.

"I reckon I do."

Elias brushed his thumb across her cheek. The setting sun painted gold across the water behind them, casting everything in a warm glow. Soon his lips leaned down, claiming hers in a gentle kiss as his fingers moved the sleeves of her cotton gown down until it pooled at her feet, leaving her bare to the nature around them. His thumb brushed against a nipple making it harden under his touch.

"Beautiful as the sun," he murmured.

Heat crept into her cheeks as she couldn't hold back the soft sigh as she reached up and rested a hand against his jaw.

"Handsome as the moon."

She leaned in, capturing his lips in a kiss that gradually intensified with desire, their tongues dancing in a slow rhythm. His large, calloused hands settled on the curve of her hips as he gently guided her back toward the car. The warmth of the engine pressed against her, yet it only fueled her eagerness to kiss Elias with greater urgency, fully aware of what was about to unfold.

"Is that cooze ready for me?"

He smirked against her lips, his fingers sliding between the warmth of her thighs, feeling just how wet she was. Her juices flowed, coating his fingers with a thick, clear sheen that made his mouth water.

"Shit..." He growled.

Bringing his fingers to his mouth to savor the taste. Sam was acutely aware that her father despised the idea of her being with Elias, and she was certain that if he ever discovered her frequent encounters with the man, he would have a heart attack. But how could she resist when he made it so easy, especially when he growled like that...

"You really know how to make a guy want you bad," he murmured, planting kisses along her neck and down the valley of her breasts, playfully teasing her by licking her sensitive nipples.

"Elias Moore, don’t tease me now," Sam sighed, reclining back, her legs parting without hesitation, which only boosted his confidence.

"Such a good girl, you’ve learned quickly not to hide this from me."

"Oh, shut up. I just don’t want to hear that mouth running; I need it working like you do those fields."

Her words drew a laugh from him as he grabbed a handful of her backside, maneuvering her until she was lying in the back seat, legs wide open.

"I’d get down in the dirt for this cooze, but you’re going to lay back while I enjoy my meal," he said, licking his lips as he parted her soft brown lips to reveal the succulent pink slit he had been craving all day. He watched as it twitched, almost beckoning him to dive in, but he held back, choosing to tease her despite her earlier warning.

His middle finger glided upward, gently caressing the entrance, eliciting a frustrated moan from her, though she remained silent, knowing Elias was too playful to make it easy. He stroked his finger up and down, twisting just enough to tease the tip inside before withdrawing, leaving a string of her natural juices that he smeared around her opening, then brought it up to the sensitive bundle of nerves that hardened with each movement of his finger.

"Lias..." she groaned. Her hips instinctively trying to lift, but the sound of him sucking his teeth made her halt, releasing a frustrated grunt.

"Patience, baby. You know I’ll take care of you; I just want to see this pussy weep as the sun sets. It looks so beautiful in this light."

His words made Sam blush; only he could find a way to make her feel shy while completely exposed to him. For several more minutes, he continued to tease her, building her arousal slowly before stopping, repeating this cycle until Sam was gripping the car seats, her nails digging in with frustration.

"Elias!"

She couldn’t endure this any longer, and it seemed he couldn’t either, as he pressed his warm mouth against her drenched lips, practically devouring her, causing her eyes to roll back and a loud cry to escape her lips. "Oh fuck," she groaned, finally experiencing the full sensation she had been craving. His tongue moved slowly between her swollen pussy, pressing against her clit, making her writhe against his mouth. The sounds she made sent jolts of pleasure to Elias’s cock, which hardened uncomfortably against the confines of his pants. The taste of her was intoxicating, and he could spend hours between her legs if she allowed him.

The sensation was overwhelming; Sam could have sworn his tongue was possessed by the devil himself, effortlessly curling around her clit as if he were savoring ice cream. He continued to pleasure her with his tongue, attuned to the cries that only he and nature were fortunate enough to hear, until he sensed that familiar quiver of her inner walls. This made him suck harder, pushing his tongue deeper inside her as she gripped his curls and ground her clit against the tip of his nose.

"Elias, I can't... Fuck, baby," she gasped.

If only Elias could capture how stunning she appeared in this moment, he would, but for now, he wanted her to concentrate solely on the pleasure and release on his tongue. And that’s precisely what she did; just a few more strokes in, her body tensed, and a wave of her cum surged over his tongue, coating his facial hair in the process. He eagerly ate every wave of her orgasm, relishing the taste of her in all her natural beauty. He only paused for a brief moment to catch his breath before diving back in, repeating the motion as his tongue continued to swirl and curl, causing Sam to whimper from the overwhelming sensations. Her clit was swollen and glistening from the stimulation, while her walls were so slick that they couldn't grip his tongue.

"Lias, please...I need you so badly," Her broken moans were enough to make him groan against her slit, thrusting into the air in response.

"You make it difficult not to take you right here in this car...I'm trying to treat ya well." He stood up, revealing to Sam just how affected he was by pleasuring her, the front of his pants slightly damp as precum soaked through the brown fabric.

"You'll treat me right if you take those pants off and get to it," Sam said, noticing how much he was affected, and it pained her to see him in such a state. Elias quickly began to remove his pants, revealing his long black cock, harder than ever, twitching in the sunlight with the tip glistening with precum. Her mouth watered at the sight, and if he could do that to her...why couldn't she do the same?

"Elias, wait,"

He paused, concern etched on his face, worried he might have gone too far.

"What is it? You okay?" he asked, cupping her cheek. He was ready to take her, but he also didn't want to push her.

"Yeah, I'm fine, but..."

She swallowed hard before slipping out of the car, backing him up slightly before kneeling down. The action made Elias's eyes widen; he wasn't sure what she was up to, but the way she was looking at his cock made it clear to him what she had in mind.

"Sam, you don't--"

He couldn't finish his sentence as her tongue gently caressed the tip, savoring the salty taste that lingered. Suddenly, an overwhelming desire surged within her. He placed a hand on her shoulder while Sam continued to take him deeper, her tongue tracing the prominent vein that throbbed beneath the surface. A groan escaped him; this was uncharted territory for them, and he found himself enjoying it immensely as his cock twitched in her mouth, releasing a small stream of precum onto her tongue.

"Damn, Sam, you've never done this before," he gasped.

Sam chose to ignore him, concentrating on breathing through her nose as she swayed her head, relishing the smooth sensation of his cock gliding against her tongue. It was oddly intoxicating; she yearned to push him further down her throat, but each attempt left her feeling breathless. Her eyes shut tightly as she persisted, and Elias could sense her struggle.

"Don't push yourself, take your time, girl," he chuckled softly, brushing a few strands of hair from her face, grinning at the sight of his cock sliding into her mouth. Who would have thought this would excite him more than pleasuring her?

Always striving for perfection, she pressed herself further down his cock, causing her to choke around him. This made Elias tense with worry, but a shuddering moan from her kept him anchored in place, feeling Sam's throat tighten around him in a way her pussy couldn't. His hands shook, and his thighs quivered under her grip as he couldn't help but rock his hips forward, pulling a choked gasp from her and a shuddering cry from Elias. The sounds Elias produced were like church songs to Sam. Made her pussy twitch with desire as she craved more of his noises.

Her cheeks hollowed as she gazed up, noticing his stomach tighten and his breath hitch, signaling he was nearing his end. But karma was a price he needed to pay as she slowly pulled him out of her mouth with a wet pop that made Elias grunt and look down at her with a confused lidded eye expression.

"Why did you stop... I was about to cum..." he pouted, looking at her.

Sam couldn't resist smirking back as her hand stroked his length, keeping him fully hard.

"For the same reason you paused," she replied, causing Elias to groan.

Her hand felt so soft, yet he craved more, wanting to feel more. He locked his brown eyes onto hers as he reached down to grasp her wrist, thrusting into the palm of her hand. The movement made her gasp as she watched his cock swing back and forth, tantalizingly close to her mouth.

"Baby, please... Let me feel that tongue again. I want to feel that throat wrap around my cock as I cum," he pleaded, knowing just what to say.

Sam sighed, unable to fight it, as she leaned forward, granting him that satisfaction once more, while Elias took her hair in his hands and began to push his cock deep down her throat, causing her to gag slightly from the suddenness of it.

"Sorry, baby... I'm sorry," he groaned, but Sam just took deep breaths, relaxing her throat enough for him to thrust into her. His moans soon filled the air, accompanied by the wet slapping sounds of her drool coating his balls, which made a loud plap as they hit her chin. He kept pushing himself deeper into her throat, feeling the intensity build within him and his balls tighten up with the urge to cum, yet he was determined to prolong the sensation.

His moans turned into ragged gasps as he sounded like the bulls from the pasture that he and his brother used to tease during mating season with the heifers. His jaw was clenched tight, and he could feel the pressure in his teeth from how hard he was clenching them, but nothing could deter him from finally cumming down Sam's throat, loving the sound of her choked swallows as she struggled to take him fully, his cum threatening to bubble and spill from the corners of her mouth.

It wasn't until her throat stopped moving, he slowly withdrew, noticing he was still hard and twitching, coated in drool and cum. But Sam? She looked like a feast before a hungry man. Her eyes were glazed, her breath heavy as she gasped for air, both sets of lips swollen from his mouth and his cock. Drool and cum dripped from the corners of her mouth, trickling down over her nipples, making him want to lean down and clean her up.

"We definitely need to do that again," Elias chuckled, helping Sam up from the dirt while licking the cum from the corner of her mouth with a low moan.

"But right now, I want to fill this pussy up and put my seed right her" His hands placed against her belly while his words made Sam blush, and she seemed to tremble from her cum-drunk state.

"W-What? Elias..." She blinked in confusion, but he simply smiled and pressed a soft kiss to her salty lips.

"I want to fuck you until your legs are shaking, I want to cum so deep inside that your body begins to make room for a little Elias Moore Jr." Damn this man for making her crave his cum inside her and do just that...

"Do it," she said, her voice trembling, and Elias grinned, pulling her into a deeper kiss as he guided her back into the car's back seat, laying his body over hers. The two found it impossible to separate their lips, each unwilling to let go of the other, their bodies pressed tightly together. Sam let out a soft whine, her hips instinctively rising as she felt the full length of his cock rubbing against her. Elias seemed to understand her desires, and he shared them too. He reached between them, grasping the base of his cock and aligning it with her entrance.

With their lips still locked, he pushed himself inside her, causing Sam to finally break the kiss and moan as she felt him stretch her completely, throbbing deep within her.

"Fuck... This pussy was made just for me," he murmured, even though he was the only one she had ever been with, perfectly shaped for him.

"Lias, please," she pleaded

Her beautiful begging compelling him to pull back until only the tip remained inside her, then thrusting fully in, making her gasp. Their groans mingled as he continued to rock into her, savoring the smoothness of her walls and the way she clung to him effortlessly. It made him want to melt into her and stay buried deep. In this moment, it felt peaceful, free from threats from the klan, her parents, or his brother. Her embrace allowed him to breathe in a way he hadn’t before. However, Sam's heart ached at the thought of him leaving to fight overseas, fearing this might be the last time she saw him. She wished he could leave a piece of himself behind inside her and it only made her legs wrap around his waist to ensure that happened.

"Faster," she whispered, prompting him to open his eyes and gaze down at her. "Faster, Elias," she begged with a broken whine, causing him to nod slowly, biting his bottom lip as he began to thrust into her more quickly, ignoring the squeaking of the car, which only added to the ambiance of their lovemaking.

"I love you," he murmured, bringing his lips to her palm and pressing it against his chest, where Sam could feel his heart beating hard as he pushed deeper into her.

"I love you... I fucking love you," he groaned, causing tears to well up in Sam's eyes. Despite the looming war, their love remained unshaken.

"I love you too, Elias," she whimpered, prompting him to thrust faster and harder. He pressed himself so deeply that his mind became clouded with pleasure. All his worries melted away inside her as he concentrated on eliciting more moans from her, yearning to hear her scream his name, reminding him that even in his absence, her body would always belong to him. 

His legs remained tightly wrapped around him, ensuring he was completely enveloped as his thrusts turned short and rapid. He couldn't suppress the shaky moan that escaped him.

"Gonna...Cum." Her enchanting words seemed to ignite a frenzy within him, pushing him to match her pace. Gripping her thick hips and sitting up as he began to thrust harder, captivated by the way her breasts bounced with each movement and how her hands clung to the seats for support.

"Gonna cum on this dick? Make it all yours?" he growled, his eyes dark and intense. "Cum baby, come on, give it to me."

The moment his thumb pressed firmly against her clit, he felt her walls tighten around him.

"There ya go... Mmhm, good girl," he groaned, feeling the warm stickiness of her orgasm brush against him, her sobs echoing in his ears. As he only seemed to drive his cock down into her faster.

"Here it comes..." he groaned out after a bit, his hips still moving as he continued to pleasure her through her climax. "Gonna cum... Give you it all," he choked out just as his hips stuttered forward, filling her completely with his cum, feeling how this load was larger than the first.

His breath was shaky as he noticed Sam's body twitching, filled to the brim with his seed. He remained buried inside her, still hard, as his movements slowed but did not stop as he kept rocking into her, keeping his cum buried and pushing it in deeper.

"So beautiful..." he hummed, kissing the sweat from her neck before trailing his lips to her breast, gently suckling on a nipple. Sam couldn't tear her gaze away; his mouth felt good against her skin. Her fingers found their way into his hair, rubbing gently.

"Can't wait till these fill up," he remarked, prompting Sam to lightly swat him with a chuckle.

"You want to give me a baby so badly, but we aren't married yet," she teased, to which Elias simply grinned, already having plans in mind but keeping them to himself as he leaned in to capture her lips with his. He was eager to go again, still unsatisfied after just one round.

Days like that continued for a while. The threat of the draft eventually became reality, and both Moore brothers were selected to leave for the war. Sam had known the day was coming. Everybody did, but knowing didn't make it hurt any less. She couldn't hold back the tears when Elias finally sat her down and told her. He held her while she cried, brushing her hair back and promising her that he'd come home.

There were still a few days before they had to leave, though. And Elias made a promise. If he only had a handful of days left in Mississippi, he'd make every one of them count. And he truly did. Every evening after work, he found her. Sometimes he'd take her to the lake. Sometimes they'd walk through town together. Sometimes he'd show up with flowers he'd bought. But more often than not, he'd show up with flowers he'd very obviously stolen from somebody else's garden.

When she'd point it out, he'd simply grin and claim he was "borrowin' 'em."

Every spare minute he had belonged to her. Every laugh, Every conversation, Every sunset. It felt as though they were both trying to squeeze a lifetime of memories into a handful of days. When she was alone at night and early morning, Sam worked on the mojo bag. Carefully, she slipped the John the Conqueror root inside. Then a small piece of silver. Then a lock of her own hair wrapped tightly in white thread.

Each item carried a prayer she whispered over them of Protection, Strength, Safe travels, And most of all a safe return home. She whispered those prayers into the cloth until her voice grew hoarse. Only then did she place the finished bag into a small box and tie it shut.

A heavy knock sounded against her front door. Sam smiled immediately as nobody knocked quite like Elias. Thankfully her parents were not home tonight as they planned on going to help out another plantation so it left just her at home alone to care for the house. Taking a steadying breath, she opened the door and there he stood. Grinning from ear to ear. A bundle of wildflowers nearly blocked his face from view.

"For the prettiest lady in the Delta."

A laugh escaped her despite everything.

"You're a liar."

"Nah."

"Those ain't for me."

"They are."

"Too pretty."

"Exactly."

Sam shook her head as she accepted the flowers. Elias stepped inside without invitation, as he always did, and immediately reached for her waist.

"Now what?"

"Thought I'd spend the rest of the day with my girl."

"I figured."

His smile grew broader as Sam gently patted his chest, then momentarily pulled away.

"Here, this is for you," she said, grabbing a box and returning to him.

He looked puzzled as he opened it, revealing a bag inside. It resembled the one Annie had given to Elijah, but this one was red.

"A mojo bag..." He laughed, glancing up at Sam, who was blushing and nodding.

"Yeah... I thought since you're heading off to war, this might help keep you safe. I don’t want you leaving so soon; remember, you promised to give me an Elias Moore Jr." The recollection of that night in the car caused Elias to cough in surprise and blush himself.

"Damn girl, you really have to remind me... Now I want to go again," he said as Sam rolled her eyes at him before leaning in for a kiss, but their moment was interrupted by another voice from the still-open front door.

The warmth in the room seemed to disappear as Both of them turned and saw Mary stood in the doorway. Sam tensed up as she hadn't heard her approach. Mary's eyes landed on Elias first. Because of course they did.

"Mary?" Elias frowned. "Somethin' wrong?"

"You need to come home."

The smile she'd worn vanished completely and that got his attention as he was now concerned something had happened.

"Why?"

"Elijah needs you."

Immediately Sam straightened up.

"What happened?" Mary's eyes flickered toward her which Sam saw the disgusted look in her eyes.

"Didn't say."

The answer came too quickly that even Elias frowned.

"He alright?"

Mary nodded at that."As far as I know." Sam had enough of the lack of information as to why her and Elias were being interrupted by something Elijah would of taken care of himself.

"Then why didn't he come himself?"

There. The question had slipped out before Sam could stop it as Mary's gaze settled on her. Her eyes were Cool and sharp as she crossed her arms

"Because he asked me. Why am I bein questioned so harshly?"

The room fell quiet as Sam felt her stomach tighten but did no back down from the questions as nothing was making sense, it obviously wasn't an emergency as Mary did not seemed panicked.

"If it was important enough to pull Elias away on his last day here, seems like Elijah would've said what he needed."

Mary crossed her arms.

"Maybe he didn't think it was any of my business."

"Or maybe he would've just come himself."

The words were polite but Sams' tone wasn't which made Elias glanced between them before sighing already sensing the brewing dislike between both women.

"Oh Lord."

Mary ignored him. Her eyes remained fixed on Sam.

"I was only trying to help."

Sam smiled at that as she tilted her head.

"So am I."

Neither woman looked away from one another and for a moment it felt as though the entire room had gone still. Then Mary sighed dramatically like always when she didn't get her way.

"Well, forgive me for delivering a message."

Her attention shifted back to Elias and her gaze lingered for way too long. Long enough for Sam to notice. And quite frankly, long enough for that uncomfortable chill to creep through her chest again.

"You should probably hurry," Mary said softly. "Wouldn't want Elijah waitin'." Elias, completely oblivious, rubbed the back of his neck.

"If Elijah needs me, I oughta go see what's goin' on."

Sam knew he was right. It didn't mean she had to like it.

"Yeah."

The answer came quieter than she intended. and he noticed the shift her her attitude as he immediately stepped closer. His hands found hers as he pulled her close to him, not caring if Mary was watching.

"I'll come back."

"You better."

His smile softened.

"I always do."

Before she could answer, he leaned down and kissed her like he was trying to memorize her.

"I love you, Samantha."

The words wrapped around her heart.

"I love you too."

For the moment she forgot Mary was standing there. Then movement from the doorway reminded her that Mary was watching. A strange expression crossed her face before she quickly looked away. But Elias moved away, grabbed his hat and headed for the door. As he passed, Mary immediately fell into step beside him. Sam silently followed and stood on the porch watching them walk away.

While watching she caught Mary looking over at Elias the same way a person stared at something they wanted, the same way she looked at her man.  A cold knot formed in Sam's stomach. She hated it, hated the feeling of jealousy but it was hard not to be when it was plainly obvious how Mary was around Elias.

"Drink your liquor. Listen to the music. Keep your hands where they belong."

One of the men laughed bitterly.

"You got a lot to say for a colored girl."

Willow tilted her head slightly. "And yet somehow I'm still making more sense than all of you combined." A few snorts of laughter escaped nearby tables.

The drunk man's face darkened.

"You think you're funny?"

"No," Willow replied evenly. "But I do think you're embarrassing yourselves."

The man's chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stood.

The room tensed. For the first time all night, Willow felt a flicker of fear but not enough to back down. But she knew this could end badly. The man stepped toward her, towering over her.

"Maybe somebody needs to teach you some manners."

Before Willow could respond, another voice cut through the room.

"That's enough."

The authority in those two words was immediate.

Everyone turned and saw that Capone had risen from his seat. Gone was the relaxed man enjoying a drink. What stood there now was the man whose name carried weight throughout Chicago. The drunk man's confidence vanished almost instantly. Capone adjusted his jacket and took a slow step forward.

"You came into a place trying to enjoy itself and decided to act like fools." His voice remained calm, which somehow made it more intimidating. "Now you're harassing women and threatening employees."

The man swallowed as Capone's eyes narrowed.

"You're ruining my evening." A long silence followed then Capone smiled...It wasn't a friendly smile. "If I were you, I'd leave before I decide to charge admission for this beating."

The men didn't need to be told twice. Within moments they were backing toward the door, muttering curses under their breath before disappearing into the night. The entire club seemed to breathe again and then applause broke out from several tables.

Willow looked toward Capone.

"Thank you."

Capone waved the gratitude away.

"Nah. You handled yourself just fine." His eyes studied her for a moment then he smiled.

"Tell me something, sweetheart. Ever thought about working somewhere bigger?"

Willow frowned at that.

"What do you mean?"

Capone gestured toward the room around them.

"I've got a new Black and Tan club opening soon. Bigger crowds. Better pay. Better opportunities."

Willow stared at him.

Chicago's most infamous man was offering her a job. Seeing her hesitation, Capone chuckled.

"You can sing. You can work a room. And judging by tonight, you've got enough backbone to survive this city."

For the first time in a long while, Willow felt something she hadn't felt since leaving Mississippi.

Hope. And that maybe Chicago wasn't done with her yet. Willow began working for Capone not long after that night, and to his credit, everything he had promised turned out to be true.

The club was bigger, busier, and far more successful than the one she had left behind. From the outside, however, it didn't look nearly as impressive as people imagined. The building itself was a long, low brick structure that had once served as a commercial automobile garage. Most people walking down 35th Street would never guess what was hidden behind its walls. The only hint of luxury was the massive illuminated marquee stretching out over the sidewalk, glowing against the Chicago night like a beacon.

At the entrance stood a pair of polished mahogany double doors that looked expensive enough to belong in a mansion rather than a nightclub. On either side were enormous Black bouncers dressed in custom-tailored tuxedos, checking names and invitations with the kind of seriousness usually reserved for banks and government buildings.

Willow found comfort in that as the men at the door didn't let trouble stroll in off the street. Anyone who crossed those doors either belonged there or had business with Capone himself, and very few people were foolish enough to cause problems once they were inside.

The interior was what truly stole her breath. Every wall was covered with vibrant Art Deco murals painted in rich golds, deep blues, and warm terracotta tones. Stylized jazz musicians played brass instruments frozen in paint while dancers with flowing feathers seemed to move beneath crescent moons and glittering city skylines. Even after years of working there, Willow still found herself admiring them during quiet moments.

The air was perpetually thick with cigar and cigarette smoke, creating a bluish haze beneath the warm glow of brass chandeliers hanging overhead. Amber-shaded table lamps cast pools of golden light across crowded tables filled with businessmen, musicians, politicians, gamblers, and socialites.

People from every walk of life gathered there. Some came for the liquor, others came for the gambling. While many came for the music. That was where Willow belonged.

The bandstand dominated the room, elevated above the crowd like a throne. Night after night she stood beneath the lights and sang until her throat ached. The blues flowed through her veins as naturally as breathing. She sang about heartbreak, loss, hope, survival, and every hardship life had thrown her way.

People listened and for the first time in her life, Willow felt seen. The money certainly didn't hurt either.

She made more in a month than she had once made in nearly a year. After so many years of scraping by, she was finally able to breathe. She paid her landlord months in advance and still had money left over. The old man nearly fell over when she handed him the stack of bills.

Willow could tell exactly what he thought and he assumed she was selling herself. A lot of people did. But she wasn't though she was selling her voice. She was selling long nights, sore feet, aching muscles, and every ounce of passion she poured into that stage. Every dollar she earned came from hard work.

Years passed like that. Then one evening everything changed.

"Ya hear?" Betty asked while they wiped down the bar after closing. "Capone's opening himself another place."

Willow looked up from the glasses she was drying.

"Seriously?" she asked. "Well, he's always got something going on."

She wasn't upset by the news. In truth, she liked Capone more than she probably should. He had given her an opportunity when nobody else would. Whatever people said about him—and they said plenty—he had always treated her fairly.

Betty leaned closer.

"Apparently he's stepping back from this place."

That caught Willow's attention.

"He is?"

"That's what everyone's saying."

Willow frowned.

"Who's taking over?"

Betty grinned. "Some new fellows. They call themselves the Smokestack Twins."

Willow paused.

"The Smokestack Twins?"

"That's what I heard."

The name sounded ridiculous. She imagined a pair of soot-covered factory workers with rough hands and dirty faces. Nothing particularly intimidating or impressive about that Which was why she nearly choked on her drink the following evening when she saw them walk through the front doors.

The room seemed to notice them immediately. As conversations dipped while heads turned. Even the musicians on stage appeared distracted for a moment. The twins looked nothing like Willow had imagined. They moved with the effortless confidence of men accustomed to being watched. Expensive suits hugged broad shoulders. Their polished shoes gleamed beneath the chandeliers. They looked dangerous in the way sharp knives looked dangerous—elegant, controlled, and fully aware of the damage they could do.

The similarities between them were obvious, but not identical. One wore his confidence openly, smiling as he surveyed the room like he already owned it. The other was quieter, his sharp eyes taking in every detail while speaking very little. And honestly neither man looked old enough to command the kind of respect they immediately received.

Yet people moved out of their path without being asked. That alone told Willow everything she needed to know. The Smokestack Twins weren't simply replacing Capone. They were becoming something powerful in their own right.

Willow did her best to avoid the Smokestack twins.

Not because she was afraid of them. Lord knew she'd dealt with dangerous men her entire life. She'd grown up around men who carried trouble in their pockets and violence in their eyes. The twins weren't anything new in that regard.

No, she avoided them because she knew better.

Men like that always came with complications.

The problem was that avoiding them became a whole lot harder when they owned the place she worked.

What made matters worse was that the brothers had somehow figured out she was from Clarksdale. Ever since then, they seemed determined to drag her into conversation whenever they crossed paths. They spoke with the same Mississippi drawl she grew up hearing, and every time one of them opened their mouth, she felt a little piece of home she wasn't sure she wanted to remember.

Tonight, however, it seemed her luck had finally run out.

Willow arrived early, as she always did. The club wasn't open yet, leaving the building unusually quiet. The cooks were laughing about something in the kitchen while waitresses prepared tables for the evening rush.

She had dressed for the stage. A silky black dress hugged her figure before flowing down to her calves. Around her shoulders rested a feathered black boa that swayed whenever she moved. Under the warm lights of the club, she looked every bit the star her customers believed her to be.

She had barely made it halfway across the floor when the door to the VIP room opened and Stack stepped out. The moment he saw her, his face split into a grin that revealed a flash of gold.

"Well now," he drawled. "Look what finally wandered in."

Willow immediately sighed. Of course. Stack chuckled at her reaction.

"See now, Every time me or my brother walk into a room, you start actin' like a cat lookin' at bathwater."

Willow rolled her eyes and continued walking. "Evenin', Mr. Moore." The formality only seemed to amuse him more.

"Mr. Moore?" he repeated. "Girl, you make me sound eighty years old."

She ignored him but unfortunately, Stack wasn't the type of man who accepted being ignored. A moment later he stepped in front of her path.

"Where you runnin' off to?"

"I ain't runnin' nowhere."

"Mhm." His grin widened. "Could've fooled me."

Willow folded her arms and let out a sigh

"What do you want?"

"Conversation."

"Well, you picked the wrong woman."

Stack placed a hand over his chest as though she had wounded him.

"Damn, Willow. That's cold."

"You'll survive."

"I reckon I will."

The amusement in his voice only irritated her more. Which only made her more irritated when Stack leaned slightly closer.

"Me and Smoke been wonderin' what we did to make you dislike us so much."

Willow laughed. A short, humorless laugh.

"You think too highly of yourselves. I don't dislike y'all. I just don't see no reason to know y'all."

"Now that's a lie."

"It ain't."

Stack pointed at her as she quickly went quiet.

"You avoid us."

"I got work to do."

"You leave every room we enter."

"Coincidence."

"You won't even look at us half the time."

Willow stared directly into his eyes. "There. I'm lookin'. Happy now?" For a second Stack looked genuinely surprised before bursting out laughing.

"Lord have mercy."

Before Willow could respond, another voice entered the conversation.

"You botherin' that woman again?"

She turned to find the other twin approaching from across the club and saw Smoke. Unlike his brother, Smoke carried himself with a quieter confidence. He wasn't smiling, but there was amusement in his eyes as he looked between them. Stack immediately pointed toward Willow.

"She mean."

Willow barked out a laugh before she could stop herself. as Smoke shook his head.

"You probably deserved it."

"See?" Stack complained. "This why I can't stand y'all."

"Because we tell the truth?"

Willow could feel herself relaxing despite every effort not to.

The brothers were dangerous men. Everyone knew that. Yet watching them bicker back and forth felt less like talking to gangsters and more like watching two stubborn cousins argue at a family cookout.

Smoke looked toward her.

"You from Clarksdale, ain't you?" There it was again, that question. Willow sighed as she really didn't like talking about it.

"Yeah."

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Knew it."

"How?"

"Way you talk."

Stack nodded.

"And that attitude."

Willow narrowed her eyes.

"What that's supposed to mean?"

"It means ain't nobody got an attitude quite like somebody from Mississippi."

For the first time all evening, Willow found herself smiling. Just a little.

Stack immediately pointed at her.

"There it is!"

"What?"

"That smile."

She instantly wiped it away.

"Don't start."

"Oh, I'm absolutely startin'." Willow groaned and pushed past him. "I got work to do."

Stack called after her obviously feeling himself

"That's the longest conversation you ever had with me!"

Without turning around, Willow lifted a hand and waved him off.

Behind her she could hear both brothers laughing. And despite herself, she felt the corners of her mouth tug upward again.

The next few weeks settled into a rhythm Willow wasn't entirely prepared for. The Smokestack twins were everywhere. Not in the way bosses usually were, hidden away in offices counting money and barking orders. Smoke and Stack were constantly moving through the club. Some nights they worked the floor. Other nights they sat with musicians discussing bookings, handled deliveries, spoke with security, or fixed problems before they became disasters.

It surprised Willow.

Most men with money liked being seen with it. The twins seemed more interested in making sure the place actually ran. That didn't stop Stack from becoming a nuisance as every single night he found a new reason to bother her.

"Willow."

She didn't look up from polishing glasses.

"What?"

"You smile today?"

"Go away."

"That's a no."

"Stack..."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Go bother somebody else."

His grin flashed. "No." Then he'd laugh and disappear before she could threaten him properly.

The man was exhausting. But Smoke was different, he rarely sought her out the way his brother did. Most of their interactions happened naturally. A passing comment while she cleaned tables. A brief conversation after her set ended. A few words exchanged while the club settled into the quiet hours before closing.

At first, Willow hadn't thought much of it. Then she realized she knew things about him, just little things. But the dangerous thing about little things was how easily they added up.

She learned both brothers had served overseas during the war. The information surprised her. One evening she found Smoke repairing a loose railing near the stage.

"You know how to do that?"

Smoke glanced up from his work.

"Know how to use a hammer?"

"No."

"I know how to fix things."

Willow folded her arms as she watched.

"Where'd you learn?"

"Army."

She blinked. "You was in the Army?"

Smoke nodded.

"Me and Stack both."

That had opened an entirely different conversation. Willow found herself sitting on the edge of the stage while he worked.

"How come y'all never mention that?"

Smoke shrugged.

"Ain't much to talk about."

"You fought overseas."

"Yeah."

"And that's all you got to say?"

"What you want me to say?"

Willow stared at him. The man really was impossible sometimes. Over time she learned that was simply who he was because Smoke spoke when he had something worth saying. Everything else stayed inside. Stack, on the other hand, would happily fill any silence within a fifty-mile radius. It was through dozens of small conversations that she learned more about them.

They were from Mississippi. Born and raised in the exact same place as her and the realization had caught her completely off guard.

"No."

Smoke nodded.

"Yeah."

"You're lying."

"I ain't."

"Clarksdale, like Delta Clarksdale?" Smokes silent nod made Willow nearly drop the tray she was carrying.

"That's...Wow I never even knew y'all were born there"

Willow couldn't stop smiling. For the next fifteen minutes they talked about places neither of them had thought about in years. Roads, Churches, Stores, Food, The way summer heat sat heavy over the fields. The smell after a thunderstorm. For the first time since leaving Mississippi, Willow spoke to someone who understood exactly what she meant without needing explanations.

It felt strangely comforting. Dangerously comforting.

After that, conversations became easier. More natural. Some nights Smoke would sit near the stage after closing while musicians packed up their instruments and Willow would join him for a few minutes before heading home.

A few minutes became fifteen. Then thirty. One night she found him sitting alone with a cup of coffee.

"Coffee this late?"

Smoke glanced up.

"It ain't that late."

"It is for normal people."

"You work in a nightclub."

"Exactly. I know what late looks like."

"Okay, this is ridiculous." Michael grabbed her wrist before anyone else could squeeze through and quickly pulled her inside. The door shut behind them and immediately locked again. For a moment they both stood there catching their breath.

"That was intense," Zoe said.

Michael laughed while rubbing the back of his neck.

"It gets a little crazy sometimes."

"A little?"

"Okay, a lot."

She looked through the glass at the disappointed faces outside.

"They really wanted to get in there."

"They mostly just want a picture or a story to tell later."

The two walked back toward the table. Zoe set her bag down and slid into the chair across from him and noticed that they were the only ones in here besides the nosey workers.

"I'm guessing you rented out the place."

Michael nodded. "I figured it would be easier if we didn't have people interrupting every five minutes."

"Honestly, that's fair."

He leaned back slightly and studied her for a moment.

"So how have you been?"

The question felt surprisingly genuine and she couldn't help but blush at it.

"I've been okay," she admitted. "Mostly trying to survive LA without going broke."

That earned a laugh. "I know exactly what you mean. This city finds new ways to steal your money every day."

"It's ridiculous. I saw a pair of heels yesterday that cost more than my first car."

Michael shook his head.

"See, that's why I stay away from designer stores."

"You say that while wearing a shirt that probably costs more than my monthly groceries." The grin he gave her confirmed she wasn't entirely wrong. The easy conversation continued for several minutes, bouncing between acting, life in Los Angeles, and filming preparations. It felt natural in a way Zoe hadn't expected.

Eventually Michael tilted his head.

"So are you still nervous?"

"Absolutely."

The answer came so quickly that it made him laugh too.

"I'm excited, but I'm definitely nervous."

"That's normal."

"Easy for you to say you are-"

He pointed at her which made her quiet. "No, seriously. The fact you're nervous means you care and want to do a good job." He noticed though she still hadn't gotten a coffee,"You ain't thirsty? Go ahead and get a coffee from here" He said while shooing her away from the table. Zoe considered it while standing before breaking down and going to get one. At the counter, one of the employees immediately brightened when she approached.

"What can I get for you?"

"A mocha cookie crumble with coffee added."

She reached for her wallet but the employee quickly shook her head stopping her in her tracks.

"Michael already told us to put everything on his card."

Zoe glanced back toward him as he lifted his coffee cup in acknowledgment. Of course he had. Shaking her head with a smile, she looked back at the employee.

"In that case, make it a large." If he was paying, she wasn't about to waste the opportunity.

The coffee didn't take long. Within a few minutes, her drink was slid across the counter, and Zoe happily accepted it before making her way back to the table. The cool sensation of the cup settled nicely in her hands as she dropped back into her chair across from Michael. With a small smirk tugged at her lips.

"I gave her a big tip."

Michael glanced up from his script and snorted.

"Did you now?"

"I did."

"Well, she's been pretty helpful. I'd say she earned it."

Zoe took a sip of her coffee before raising an eyebrow at him.

"So generous."

"I am generous."

The confidence in his voice made her laugh.

"Oh, absolutely. A true philanthropist."

"Exactly."

"Buying out coffee shops and paying for everyone's drinks."

Michael placed a hand over his chest dramatically.

"Thank you for finally recognizing my contributions to society."

That earned another laugh from her, and for a moment she completely forgot why they had even met up in the first place. The conversation flowed so easily that it felt less like sitting with one of Hollywood's biggest actors and more like catching up with a friend she'd known for years.

Eventually, Zoe noticed the script sitting untouched between them. And pointed at it with her coffee cup.

"Okay, Mr. Generous. We actually need to run lines, remember?"

Michael followed her gaze before letting out an amused sigh. "Right. That's why we're here." He picked up the script and flipped through a few pages before settling on a section marked with several notes in the margins.

"Honestly, there are a couple scenes I'm struggling with." That caught Zoe's attention.

"You? Struggling?"

"Believe it or not, yes."

She leaned back in her chair. "Well, now I have to hear this." She said surprised while Michael smiled and tapping the page.

"It isn't really the dialogue. It's figuring out where Jace is emotionally during certain parts of the movie. The action scenes are easy. The mission stuff is easy. But some of the quieter moments..." He shrugged. "I don't want to play them wrong."

Zoe nodded in understanding. That actually made sense. Action heroes often looked simple from the outside, but the emotional side of those characters was usually what made them memorable.

Michael continued. "One thing I learned a long time ago is that it helps to talk about the characters outside of the script. Not as actors reading lines, but as people trying to understand them." He looked up from the pages. "I want to know how you see Elara. Not just what's written here." He tapped the script again. "I mean how you see her."

Zoe glanced down at the pages for a moment. That wasn't a question she had expected.

"I'll tell you how I see Jace," Michael continued. "You tell me how you see Elara. Sometimes it helps you get into a character's head in a healthier way. Makes them feel like actual people instead of words on a page."

Zoe slowly nodded. "Yeah, that actually makes a lot of sense." For a few seconds she thought about it. Not about the scenes, or the dialogue, but about Elara herself. The woman she'd spent the last several days obsessing over.

"I think she's lonely."

Michael's eyes lifted from the script.

"Lonely?"

"Yeah." Zoe nodded. "Everyone keeps calling her brilliant, but nobody actually listens to her. They praise her intelligence when it's useful, but they ignore her when it's inconvenient." The more she spoke, the easier the words came.

"I think she's spent so much of her life trying to convince people she's right that she forgot how to just be a person. She doesn't really have friends. Doesn't have much of a life outside of her work. Then suddenly the worst possible thing happens and everyone expects her to save them and others blame her for what happened."

Michael listened quietly.

"That's why I think she's always tired," Zoe continued. "Not physically but emotionally." She smiled softly. "Honestly, I don't even think Elara sees herself as brave. I think she's terrified most of the time. She just keeps going because if she doesn't, people die."

For a moment Michael didn't say anything. Then he nodded. "See, that's exactly what I mean."

"What?"

"That isn't in the script."

Zoe frowned and realized she was rambaling about a character and it made her blush and try to cover it up.

"It is."

"No," Michael said with a grin. "Pieces of it are. But the rest is you." He pointed at her. "That's your interpretation. That's how you understand her. That's the stuff that makes a performance feel real."

Zoe couldn't help smiling at that. "Okay, then what's your read on Jace?"

Michael leaned back in his chair and rubbed his jaw.

"Honestly?"

"Obviously."

"I think Jace is exhausted."

That immediately made her laugh.

"Everyone in this movie is exhausted."

"They really are." He flipped the script closed. "But seriously. I think he's spent his entire life believing there was always a solution to every problem. You train harder. Fight harder. Work harder." His expression softened slightly. "And then the aliens show up."

Zoe nodded. "And suddenly none of that matters."

"Exactly." He pointed at her. "Elara understands the problem." Then he pointed at himself. "Jace understands how to protect people." A small smile appeared on his face. "But neither of them can survive without the other."

Zoe found herself smiling back. When he put it like that, the relationship suddenly made even more sense. Not just the romance but the partnership and the trust. It's the reason those two characters found each other in the middle of the apocalypse and refused to let go. For the next hour, the scripts remained mostly forgotten as they bounced ideas back and forth, discussing motivations, scenes, and moments that weren't even written yet. By the time they finally started running lines, Zoe realized something surprising.

Michael was no different than any guy, he might make millions of dollars, have oscars and amazing looks. But he was a man just like any other, and that was what made him special in her eyes.

A few days had passed since the coffee shop, and Zoe had to admit something had changed between her and Michael. It wasn't some dramatic shift where they suddenly became best friends overnight. It was subtler than that. The texts became more frequent, and before long they weren't just talking about scenes, scripts, or character motivations anymore. They talked about themselves. Like their families, their childhoods, Even the weird experiences that came with acting.

One conversation somehow led to Michael admitting that he was a huge anime fan, which had surprised Zoe far more than it should have. She still remembered staring at her phone when he'd casually mentioned rewatching Naruto. Apparently, he loved Naruto and Dragon Ball Z, and once he realized she watched anime too, he had launched into a passionate rant about newer series she apparently needed to watch.

Zoe had spent most of the conversation laughing while he enthusiastically explained plotlines and characters she had never heard of.

"I don't have time to watch all of that," she'd argued and could hear him suck his teeth.

"You have time."

"No, I don't."

"You watched all of game of thrones on repeat"

"That's different."

"It absolutely is not different."

She could practically hear the grin in his voice during that conversation. Truthfully, she liked moments like that. There were no cameras, directors, expectations. Just two people talking. It helped that she didn't really know anyone in Los Angeles yet. Most days she went from the hotel to the studio and back again. Outside of work, she spent more time alone than she'd expected. Having someone to text throughout the day was nice.

By Monday morning, however, all those pleasant thoughts came crashing down. She was deep in sleep, dreaming about whatever she was dreaming of when her phone rang at four in the morning. The sound tore through her sleep like a bomb that made Zoe groan and blindly slapped at the nightstand until her hand finally landed on the device. Without opening her eyes, she accepted the call and pressed the phone against her ear.

"Who is it?" she mumbled, her voice rough from sleep.

"Where are you?"

Bekah's voice immediately cut through the fog clouding her brain.

"What?"

"Hair and makeup need you. Filming starts in a few hours. Where are you?"

For a second, Zoe just sat there. Then her eyes snapped open as the realization hit her like a truck. She looked at the date on her phone and felt her stomach dropped.

"Oh my God."

Today was filming day. Today. Not tomorrow. Not later this week. TODAY!

And she was late!!

"Wait, wait, wait!" Zoe scrambled upright, nearly dropping her phone. "I'm so sorry! I'm up! I'm awake!"

"You better be."

"I thought filming started tomorrow!"

"Zoe."

"Okay, yeah, that's my fault."

Bekah let out a long, exhausted sigh. The kind of sigh that came from someone who had already been awake for several hours.

"Hurry up. Hair and makeup have been asking where you are."

"I'm coming right now!"

The call ended, and Zoe practically launched herself out of bed. There wasn't time for a proper shower and not like breakfast was made yet. And honestly it felt like there was barely time to breathe. She threw on deodorant, brushed her teeth at record speed, splashed water on her face, grabbed her bag, and ran out the door while still wearing her Hello Kitty pajama pants, a pink tank top, and her bonnet.

Halfway down the hall she remembered to lock the hotel room. The elevator ride felt painfully slow but the moment the doors opened she bolted outside and started power-walking toward the studio. An Uber would've been faster, but she didn't have time to sit around waiting for one to accept the ride. Thankfully, the hotel was close enough to the production lot that she could make it on foot.

Still, she looked ridiculous. The cool morning air hit her face as she hurried down the sidewalk. Every few steps she mentally blamed Michael as this was clearly his fault because if he hadn't kept her awake until nearly midnight FaceTiming and running lines, she would've been asleep at a reasonable hour.

Sure, she could have ended the call. But that wasn't important right now!

By the time she reached the security gate, she was slightly out of breath. The guard took one look at her outfit and immediately started laughing.

"Sleep in?"

Zoe pressed her hands against her knees and nodded.

"Way too much." The older man chuckled while punching in the code. "I figured."

"You're supposed to be supportive, Carl."

"I'm supportive of you getting more sleep."

Despite her panic, Zoe laughed. "Fair enough."

Carl waved her through the gate.

"Have a good day, Ms. Bennett."

"You too, Carl."

The second she entered the lot, she picked up her pace again. Crew members were already everywhere. Equipment was being moved between sound stages. Production assistants hurried around carrying clipboards and coffee. Lights were being adjusted. Someone in the distance was shouting about cables. For the first time, it truly felt like filming day. Zoe pushed through the doors leading to wardrobe and makeup. The room was already buzzing with activity. Actors moved between stations while stylists rushed around carrying brushes, makeup palettes, clothing racks, and enough coffee to keep an entire city awake.

Most of the cast was already dressed, their costumes neat and pristine before filming inevitably destroyed them throughout the day. The moment she stepped inside, several heads turned. A few people laughed. Zoe immediately knew why. She was standing in the middle of a major Hollywood production dressed like she was about to spend the day binge-watching cartoons.

"Don't say it," she warned.

That only made a few people laugh harder mostly Michael who was snickering in his seat which earned him a middle finger which only made him laugh louder.

"Zoe!" Jasmine's voice cut through the room. The costume designer was already standing beside Elara's rack with an outfit draped over her arm. The second she spotted Zoe, she pointed toward the changing rooms. "Come here."

Zoe obediently shuffled over. Jasmine looked her up and down before shaking her head.

"You look like you got attacked by your bed."

"I basically did."

She shoved the outfit into Zoe's arms. "Go put this on and come back. Hair and makeup are already threatening to hunt you down. Now go get dressed before Bekah has an aneurysm."

Honestly? That seemed like a reasonable concern. So with her costume in hand and her dignity hanging on by a thread, Zoe hurried toward the changing room. Thankfully it was just her sweater and jeans with a lab coat, she didn't have to wear the heavy military gear yet so it took her no time to finish and rush to hair and makeup to get set up, but she did have to hear a few lectures along the way.

❄️➖❄️➖❄️

The transport aircraft groaned and rattled as it forced its way through the Antarctic storm, buffeted by violent winds that seemed determined to tear it from the sky. Snow slammed relentlessly against the reinforced windows, obscuring the outside world until nothing remained but an endless blur of white and gray. Every so often the aircraft shuddered beneath a particularly strong gust, drawing a few uneasy glances from those aboard.

Inside the cargo bay, the atmosphere was heavy with anticipation. The usual chatter that accompanied long flights had long since faded, replaced by a tense silence. It wasn't that anyone was calm. Far from it. Every person aboard knew they were flying toward something unknown, and uncertainty had a way of quieting even the loudest room.

Commander Jace Holloway sat nearest the rear ramp, his elbows resting on his knees as he studied a tablet displaying satellite imagery of their destination. The dim red emergency lighting cast sharp shadows across his features, emphasizing the scar that disappeared beneath the collar of his cold-weather jacket. It made him appear older than his thirty-eight years, worn down by experiences few people could imagine.

Across from him, Sergeant Cole Bennett stretched comfortably in his seat, looking far less concerned than everyone else.

"Y'know," Cole said, finally breaking the silence, "when they told me Antarctica, I figured there'd be a lot less chance of dying."

A few heads turned toward him. Jace didn't even bother looking up from the tablet.

"You still have time to stay on the plane."

Cole snorted and shook his head.

"Not a chance. I already packed my winter coat."

The remark earned a few quiet laughs from nearby personnel. Beside him, General Victor Hayes sighed heavily.

"Somehow I expected more professionalism from this team."

Cole pointed at him. "Sir, professionalism died somewhere over the Atlantic." This time the laughter was louder. Even Marcus Reed, director of the expedition and one of the few civilians on board, allowed himself a reluctant smile. Jace finally lowered the tablet and looked up.

"Everyone enjoy themselves?"

The amusement died almost instantly. Cole raised both hands in surrender.

"See? That's the look."

"What look?"

"The one that says we're about to walk into something terrible."

Several people exchanged uneasy glances. Marcus leaned forward in his seat.

"Tell me you don't actually believe all the rumors."

Jace studied him for a moment.

"Depends which rumors."

Marcus sighed.

"The signal. The artifact. The disappearing research teams."

A flicker of turbulence rocked the aircraft before Jace could answer. The transport lurched violently to one side, causing several people to grab for handholds. Equipment rattled against the walls and a few curses echoed through the bay.

Jace barely moved. Instead, he returned his attention to the tablet resting in his hands. The satellite images cycled across the screen. A lonely research facility sat surrounded by endless miles of snow and ice, appearing almost insignificant against the vast Antarctic wilderness. And yet somehow it had become the center of global attention.

Three weeks earlier, all communication with the station had abruptly ceased. Two weeks earlier, a recovery team sent to investigate vanished without a trace. Six days ago, intelligence agencies intercepted a classified signal originating from somewhere deep beneath the ice. Now every major government wanted answers. The problem was that nobody seemed to have any.

A warning light flashed overhead. The pilot's voice crackled through the intercom.

"Five minutes to landing."

The mood inside the aircraft shifted immediately. Conversations and jokes ended, weapons were checked, equipment straps were tightened, and the final moments before deployment had arrived. Jace rose to his feet, steady despite the turbulence beneath him. The simple movement drew everyone's attention.

"You know the objective," he said. His voice remained calm and measured, carrying easily through the cargo bay. "Secure the facility."

His gaze shifted toward General Hayes. "Locate any survivors." Then toward Marcus. "Determine the source of the signal."

Finally, his attention returned to the rest of the team. "If anything feels wrong—"

Cole groaned dramatically.

"There it is."

A few smiles appeared around the cabin. Jace ignored him.

"—it probably is."

The rear ramp began lowering with a metallic groan. Instantly, a blast of freezing air surged into the cargo bay. Several members of the team visibly regretted volunteering for the mission as temperatures plummeted. Snow swirled through the opening, carried by howling winds that sounded almost alive.

Visibility outside was nearly nonexistent. Beyond the ramp stretched an endless white void. Jace stepped forward first. The storm roared around him, fierce and unrelenting. Snow whipped across the frozen landscape in violent waves, obscuring the distant lights of the research station. For a brief moment, he stood at the edge of the ramp and stared into the blizzard.

Something about the place felt wrong. Not dangerous, just wrong.

The sensation settled deep in his chest, impossible to explain and even harder to ignore. It reminded him of walking into a room moments after an argument had ended, when the tension still lingered in the air despite the silence. As though something had happened here. Jace pushed the feeling aside. Mission first, Questions later.

He adjusted his rifle and stepped down into the snow.

"Move out."

One by one, the team followed him into the storm. Behind them, the transport disappeared into the swirling white darkness. And far beneath the Antarctic ice, something ancient stirred from its slumber.

❄️➖❄️➖❄️

"And cut! That was perfect, guys."

Denis's voice carried across the set as a few crew members broke into applause. The tension that had filled the room during the scene immediately melted away as actors relaxed and crew members began preparing for the next setup. Zoe remained where she was, watching everything with quiet awe.

Even without the CGI, the massive visual effects, and all the editing that would eventually bring the film to life, it was incredible to witness. The way everyone slipped so effortlessly into character felt almost unreal. One second they were laughing with each other between takes, and the next they became entirely different people. It was something she deeply admired.

"Alright, Zoe, you're up." Her attention snapped back to Denis, who had stepped away from his chair and was already directing crew members toward the next section of the set.

The nervous excitement she'd been keeping under control immediately returned. This was it, her first scene. Before she could start spiraling, Michael appeared beside her.

"Hey, that was great." Zoe smiled as she looked up at him. "You were amazing out there."

A grin spread across his face. "Thanks." He rubbed the back of his neck before nodding toward the area being prepared for her scene. "You're gonna do great too."

"I hope so."

"You will."

The confidence in his voice was annoyingly reassuring.

"Do you know what scene you're doing first?" he asked.

Zoe nodded. "Yeah. It's just Elara's introduction scene. Nothing major." At least, that was what she kept telling herself. Michael seemed to catch the uncertainty hidden beneath her words and chuckled.

"Nothing major," he repeated. "Only the audience's first impression of the main character."

"See? When you say it like that, it sounds terrifying."

"Because it is."

She lightly shoved his arm, earning a laugh from him.

Together they followed the movement of the crew as cameras, lights, and equipment were repositioned for the next setup. The organized chaos of filmmaking unfolded around them, everyone knowing exactly where they needed to be and what needed to happen next.

Michael glanced toward the set before looking back at her. "I can't wait to see you in action." Before she could respond, he gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and let his hand briefly rest against the middle of her back.

The gesture was simple, friendly even, but it was enough to make her stomach do an embarrassing little flip.

"Go be Elara," he said with an easy smile. Then he stepped away, heading toward the monitors to watch the scene. Leaving Zoe standing there with a racing heart and just enough time to gather herself before the cameras started rolling.

❄️➖❄️➖❄️

The observatory was quiet except for the soft hum of computers and the rhythmic tapping of keys. Most of the building had emptied hours ago. The handful of researchers who had remained late into the evening had long since gone home, leaving only a skeleton crew scattered throughout the facility.

Dr. Elara Vance barely noticed. She sat cross-legged in her chair, one hand wrapped around a mug of coffee that had long since gone cold while the other navigated through pages of astronomical data. The glow from her monitors illuminated the otherwise dark room, casting pale blue light across stacks of notebooks, scattered research papers, and the collection of half-finished projects that had slowly taken over her desk.

A digital clock in the corner of her screen read 2:17 A.M. She sighed seeing that as it meant another night gone. Not that she was surprised. Sleep had always felt optional whenever she was chasing a question. And tonight she had more questions than answers.

A sharp knock against the glass office door pulled her attention away from the monitors. Elara looked up to find Dr. Evelyn Hart standing outside. Evelyn raised an eyebrow when she saw Elara still wide awake.

"You know normal people went home hours ago."

Elara glanced toward the clock.

"Define normal."

Evelyn entered carrying her purse and car keys.

"I've worked here eight years and I still haven't gotten used to finding you here at ungodly hours."

"I could say the same thing about you."

Evelyn smiled. "Difference is I'm leaving." She pointed toward the monitor.

"What are you staring at?"

Elara turned the screen slightly. Several lines of data scrolled endlessly down the display. Radio frequencies, signal patterns, background noise collected from a network of deep-space listening stations.

Evelyn squinted. "Please tell me you're not still looking at that."

"I think something's wrong."

"With the equipment?"

"No."

Elara leaned forward.

"The data."

Evelyn groaned.

"Elara."

"I'm serious."

She enlarged one section of the screen.

A repeating waveform appeared. It was subtle and easy to miss. But it was definitely there.

Evelyn folded her arms.

"It looks like interference."

"That's what I thought."

"And?"

"And it shouldn't be repeating."

That got her attention. Evelyn stepped closer as the two women stared at the monitor. The pattern repeated again, then again. It did it perfectly and almost rhythmically. A silence settled between them before finally Evelyn shook her head.

"It's two in the morning."

"There it is."

"There what is?"

"The part where you tell me I'm imagining things."

Evelyn laughed softly.

"Because nine times out of ten you are."

"Only nine?"

"Maybe nine and a half."

Elara rolled her eyes. Despite herself, she smiled.

Evelyn checked her watch.

"I have a six o'clock meeting. Whatever mystery signal you're trying to solve can wait until morning."

"Probably."

"Promise me you'll go home."

Elara looked back at the screen. "Eventually." Evelyn pointed a finger at her with a stern expression

"That's not a promise."

"It's the best you're getting."

With a defeated sigh, Evelyn headed toward the door.

"Goodnight, Elara."

"Night."

The door clicked shut behind her. Once again, silence filled the observatory. For several moments Elara simply stared at the monitor and watched the repeating pattern remained. Her fingers moved across the keyboard. More windows opened as additional data streams appeared. She looked for anything that might explain what she was seeing, but nothing did. The deeper she looked, the stranger it became.

A knot formed in her stomach. The kind that every scientist secretly chased. It was familiar to the feeling that you were standing on the edge of a discovery. Elara zoomed in further and then the signal sharpened. Numbers and symbols scrolled rapidly across the screen.

Then suddenly—The monitors flickered. The lights overhead dimmed for half a second. The sudden shift made Elara freeze as she looked around. Soon the signal spiked and a shrill tone echoed through the room which made her wince and cover her ears. Every screen around her illuminated simultaneously.

Warning notifications appeared across multiple displays. "What the hell?" She quickly set her coffee aside and leaned forward. The waveform had changed. And the repeating pattern was gone. In its place was something far more complex. It made Elara's heartbeat quickened as a cold chill ran down her spine. Slowly, she reached toward the keyboard. The signal pulsed again. And somewhere beneath thousands of miles of ice in Antarctica, something answered.

❄️➖❄️➖❄️

"—and cut!"

The tension that had been sitting in Zoe's shoulders immediately released.

For a second she remained frozen in place, still half inside Elara's head as the bright set lights beat down on her. Around her, crew members began moving again, talking over one another as equipment was adjusted and notes were exchanged.

Denis looked up from the monitor with a pleased smile.

"That was excellent. Let's do one more for safety."

One more. That she could handle. The second take went even smoother than the first. By now the nerves had settled into excitement, and Elara's introduction flowed naturally. When Denis finally called cut again, he seemed more than satisfied.

"Perfect. That's the one." Zoe let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.  A few crew members clapped while others gave her encouraging nods. It wasn't some grand standing ovation, but for her first real day on a blockbuster set, it felt pretty amazing.

Michael, who had been watching from behind the monitors, gave her a thumbs-up. Zoe rolled her eyes but couldn't stop smiling. As the crew began preparing for the next setup, Denis stood from his chair and stretched.

"Alright everyone, great work this morning. Let's break for lunch."

Those four words might have been magical. Immediately the set came alive. People who had spent hours focused and professional suddenly relaxed. Crew members abandoned equipment. Actors drifted toward one another in conversation. Somewhere nearby someone actually cheered.

"Food!" Florence announced dramatically from across the room. Lupita laughed.

"You act like they haven't fed us all week."

"They haven't fed me in at least three hours."

"You're so brave."

Zoe found herself laughing as everyone began moving toward the catering tent outside.

The California sun greeted them the moment they stepped out of the studio building. It was warm without being unbearable, a welcome change from the freezing temperatures they'd kept the soundstage at. The smell of food hit almost immediately. Now that filming had paused, Zoe realized she was starving.

"Come on, rookie."

She looked over to see Winston Duke motioning for her to follow.

"Rookie?"

"That's what you are."

"I've been acting for years."

"Not on this scale."

"...Fair."

Together they joined the growing line forming near the catering tables. Actors, crew members, stunt performers, and production assistants all mixed together. It was one of the few times during the day where titles didn't seem to matter much. Everyone was just hungry. By the time Zoe loaded her plate and found a seat beneath the large tent, most of the main cast had gathered around the same group of tables.

Pedro was already telling some story that had John David Washington laughing. Giancarlo Esposito sat nearby with a coffee in hand, looking as composed as ever. Florence had somehow accumulated enough food for three people.

Lupita immediately pointed it out. "That cannot possibly all be yours." Florence glanced down at her plate.

"It absolutely is."

"It looks like you're preparing for winter."

"What if I am?"

"What exactly are you storing fat for?"

Florence gasped in mock offense.

"I can't believe you would body shame me in front of my peers."

The table erupted into laughter.

"You're ridiculous," Lupita said.

"Thank you."

"No, that wasn't a compliment."

"It sounded like one."

Zoe laughed into her drink. She was beginning to understand why everyone loved Florence. A few seats away, Winston was already launching into one of his stories.

"I'm telling you right now, that horse hated me."

Pedro immediately leaned forward.

"Oh this is going to be good."

"It hated me."

"Horses don't hate people."

"This one did."

"It absolutely did not."

"It absolutely did."

The argument continued before the story had even started. Michael slid into the empty seat beside Zoe, balancing a plate in one hand. "Did I miss anything?"

"Winston got bullied by a horse."

"I did not get bullied."

"You literally just said the horse hated you."

Michael grinned at that before adding his two cents "Sounds like bullying." Winston pointed a fork at both of them.

"I don't appreciate this treatment." Nobody looked particularly concerned. The laughter around the table only grew louder. 

As everyone was sitting and laughing she and Michael shared a small look to one another before laughing at something that neither one of them has said. 

"Oh lets take a selfie!" Florence said while pulling her phone out,"Hold up damn!" Lupita was wiping her face before turning to the camera. Everyone around them flooding in as much as possible, Michaels hands came to Zoes hips and she wasn't sure what it was but the feeling of his fingers touching the bit of skin that was not covered made her face hot, and stomach twist and flip. "Cheeese" 

Once the picture everyone pulled away but Michael...His hand stayed there for a second longer, their eyes lingered on one another until they pulled apart by the sound of Denis approaching. "alright guys lets get back to it" He said with a clap which made Florence whine. "Noo not yet!"

"Yes, now come on"

After lunch the afternoon slipped away in the same blur that was loud, fast, slightly chaotic, and somehow still perfectly controlled beneath it all. By the time Denis finally called for the last setups of the day, even the energy in the air had shifted. The jokes were slower now, the laughter a little softer at the edges. People were still talking, still teasing, but there was an undercurrent of exhaustion.

It was the good kind of tired, though—the kind that came from doing something that actually mattered.

Zoe felt it settle into her bones as she stepped out of costume and back into her own clothes, just no bonnet included, the weight of Elara slowly peeling away with each removed piece of wardrobe. For a moment she just stood there in the dressing room, staring at her reflection like she was trying to catch up with herself.

Then reality caught up instead. “Alright, that’s a wrap for the day!” someone called down the hallway. That was it.

The set exhaled all at once. Crew members started breaking down equipment. Lights dimmed. Walkways filled with people stretching, yawning, laughing tiredly as they gathered their things. Conversations overlapped—plans for tomorrow, complaints about sore feet, promises to sleep for twelve straight hours. Zoe stepped out into the hallway, adjusting the strap of her bag when she heard footsteps behind her.

“Hey.”

She turned slightly, already recognizing the voice before she even saw him. Michael stood a few steps back, jacket in one hand, the other shoved loosely into his pocket like he wasn’t in any rush at all. He looked just as tired as everyone else, but there was something calmer about him now that the day was over. Less performer, more person.

“You heading out?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Zoe said, shifting her bag higher on her shoulder. “I think if I stay any longer I’m going to collapse somewhere and become part of the studio set permanently.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “That bad?”

“It’s not bad,” she corrected, then paused. “It’s just… a lot.”

“Yeah,” he nodded like he understood that more than he was saying. “First days always hit different.”

A beat passed between them, easy and unforced in a way the earlier rush of the day hadn’t allowed. Michael glanced toward the exit doors where the last of the crew were filtering out into the evening light.

“You survived though.”

Zoe let out a tired breath, adjusting her grip on her bag. “Barely.”

For a second neither of them said anything. The noise of the studio behind them softened into background hum—distant voices, closing doors, the final shuffle of a long day ending. Then, unexpectedly, Zoe laughed. It was short, surprised, like it slipped out before she could stop it. Michael looked at her like he hadn’t expected that either, then smiled.

“That laugh sounded like survival to.”

“Because it was,” she said, still smiling as she shook her head slightly. “I think I blacked out at least twice during blocking.”

“That’s a good sign,” he replied seriously.

“That is not a good sign.”

He laughed again, quieter this time, and for a moment it felt like the entire day finally loosened its grip on both of them.

Zoe shifted her weight, glancing toward the exit again. “You heading out too?”

“In a minute,” he said. “Just wanted to make sure you weren’t, like… face down somewhere in a hallway.”

“I appreciate the concern.”

“Professional courtesy.”

“Uh-huh.”

There was another small pause, comfortable this time instead of awkward. The kind that didn’t ask for anything to fill it.

Michael nodded toward the doors. “Get some rest.”

“You too.”

“Yeah,” he said, then hesitated just long enough to add, “we do it all again tomorrow.”

Zoe exhaled through her nose like she was already accepting her fate. “Unfortunately.”

Her parents were holding hands across the table, tight enough that their knuckles were pale. For the first time, they didn’t look like they had control of the situation. They looked afraid.

“We should’ve told you sooner,” her father continued, exhaling through his nose. “But we were worried. We didn’t want you feeling like you had to be part of it when you were too young.”

Jade didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched him.

He finally let out a breath, like he’d been holding it for years.

“Jade… we run a business. A very dangerous one.” A pause. “We hurt people for money. We do illegal things to maintain the life we’ve given you.”

Her stomach dropped, but he wasn’t done.

“That man who took you… he was part of something called the Brotherhood. Low-level. Probably desperate. He thought if he grabbed you, he could get access to one of my safes and buy his way back in.”

Her mind struggled to catch up, everything clicking into place in ways she didn’t want it to. The guards. The silence. The rules. The way people around her home never questioned anything.

“Daddy…” Her voice cracked slightly. “Are you saying… we’re criminals?”

A beat of silence.

“Yes.”

That was the moment something in her changed permanently.

Jade hated lies after that. Not just disliked them—hated them. Because one lie had nearly gotten her killed, and the truth had only come when it was almost too late to matter. If she’d known sooner, maybe she would’ve understood the world she was in. Maybe she would’ve been prepared. Instead she had been a child in a locked house pretending everything outside wasn’t real.

When she finally left for college in Atlanta, it wasn’t a fight. Not really. She was old enough by then, stubborn enough too. Her parents didn’t want her going alone, but Atlanta was far enough, and eventually they let her go. Even then, they made sure she was taken care of. Money appeared in her account like clockwork. Rent paid. Tuition handled. Food never an issue.

For a while, it was almost normal. Then the money started slowing down. Smaller amounts. Longer gaps. By the third year, it stopped completely. She never said anything about it, but she noticed. She always noticed. And every time she called, her parents told her not to worry, that everything was fine, that money would be sent soon. And every time, she knew they were lying again.

The anger came back in waves, quieter than before but sharper. She was grown now. Twenty-two. Old enough to handle the truth they kept avoiding.

But she still didn’t push. Not until graduation.

She stood there with her veterinary degree finally in hand, years of work finally paying off, and when she found her parents in the crowd afterward, something in her chest tightened. Her mother pulled her into a hug immediately, crying as she said how proud she was. Her father stood just behind her with a bouquet of roses, smiling like he had been waiting for this moment for a long time.

But they looked tired. Deeply tired. Like something had been wearing them down for years.

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” her mother whispered.

Her father nodded, voice soft. “You’re going to do great things.”

Jade hugged her mother back, but when she looked at her father, she couldn’t ignore it anymore. The sadness behind his eyes. The weight he was carrying even now.

Something in her finally cracked in a different way.

“I think…” she said slowly, hesitating for the first time in a long time. “I think I’d like to come home for a little while.”

The change was immediate. Her mother’s face lit up like she’d been given something she didn’t dare hope for. Her father’s expression softened in a way Jade hadn’t seen in years. Relief. Real relief.

“Of course,” her mother said quickly. “Of course, baby.”

And as they stood there, Jade couldn’t shake the feeling that going back home might finally give her the answers she had been avoiding her entire life.

Coming home felt normal at first. Her parents were attentive in a way that almost made her uncomfortable—not in a bad way, just unfamiliar. She didn’t want them to act like she was something fragile that needed constant care, like they had to tiptoe around her existence. But part of her couldn’t deny it still felt… nice. A little spoiled, even.

Still, there was something off about the house like there was a strange absence where there used to be noise. There weren’t as many men around anymore. Fewer guards. Fewer staff. Even the maids weren’t there in the same numbers she remembered. The kitchen, once always alive with cooks preparing meals at all hours, now only had her mother in it most days, trying out new recipes like she was relearning how to do it all herself.

Five-course dinners had turned into three.

The mansion was the same size, the same wealth, the same silence—but it felt different. Quieter in a way that wasn’t peaceful. And her father…That was the biggest change. His hair, once always kept down to the skin had started to grow out. His beard came in thicker now, untrimmed. His eyes looked heavier every day, like he wasn’t sleeping properly—or like he hadn’t been for a long time. Jade noticed it all. She just didn’t ask.

Instead, she kept herself busy. Looking at apartments. Scanning job postings around Atlanta and nearby cities. Trying to build something that didn’t feel like this house. One afternoon, while walking past her father’s office, she heard voices shouting

“You tell that Killmonger that if he wants a war, he can have one!” Jade froze when she heard her father screaming.

A second voice answered, calmer. Controlled. “I don’t think that’s wise. You owe him a significant amount of money, and he’s only giving you one chance—either you pay him, or you follow through on what was agreed months ago after he took control.”

She slowed, moving closer to the door without thinking, pressing her ear lightly against it to hear the two of them better, what was this money and what was agreed on?

“This isn’t right, Zuri,” her father snapped. “How does he just take over and act like I owe him anything? I don’t owe him shit. I will not give him a dime or—”

“He’s leaving you no choice, Kwame. You pick one by the end of the month.” Silence followed. Then the door opened. Jade barely had time to straighten before a heavyset man in a purple-and-black suit stepped out. He paused when he saw her and for a split second, his expression shifted—surprise, recognition… and something like sadness.

“Ms. Lincoln,” he said quietly. Then he walked past her without another word. Jade stood still, watching him go, unsettled by the way he looked at her like she was something he already understood something she didn’t even know about herself.

She had never seen him before in her life. So why did it feel like he knew her?

And what kind of name was Killmonger?

That night, she didn’t let it sit. Dinner was quiet, like most dinners had become again—forks against plates, no music, no real conversation. Just the weight of things unsaid hanging over the table. Jade finally looked up as she gathered the courage to speak

“Who is Killmonger?”

The shift was immediate like It was like she had spoken a trigger word. Her father stopped mid-motion and the air in the room tightened.

“What did you say?” His voice had gone cold.

Jade didn’t look away. “I asked who Killmonger is.”

Her mother’s eyes dropped instantly to her plate, tense and silent. Her father set his fork down slowly.

“Don’t ever bring that man’s name into this house.”

The way he said it wasn’t just anger.

It was fear and for the first time in a long time, Jade felt something familiar settle in her chest.

So it was real.

“So we’re just going to lie again?” she said, sharper now. “Make excuses again? Dad, I thought we were past this.”

“This is different, Jade.”

“How?”

His jaw tightened. “Because he’s… evil.”

She almost laughed at that.

“And that’s even more reason to tell me who he is, right? Or did you forget what happened the last time you kept me in the dark about danger?” That landed and it caused silence to stretch between them, heavy and suffocating.

Her father pushed his chair back so hard it scraped against the floor. He didn’t even finish his meal. Just stood and walked out of the room without another word. Jade stayed seated, staring after him, something cold settling in her stomach. So some man named Killmonger had him scared like that?

She finally looked at her mother.

“Who is he?”

Her mother hesitated, lips parting like she wanted to speak, then thought better of it. She stood instead, quiet and shaken, and left the room without answering. And just like that, Jade was left alone again.

The following weeks after that conversation were rough.

Her father barely spoke to her, and while she tried talking to her mother a few times, the woman would only look at her before bursting into tears. At first, Jade had been angry. Then frustrated. Now she mostly just felt sick. Maybe she had been too aggressive and she had pushed too hard. But she had spent most of her life being lied to. Every answer she'd ever gotten had come wrapped in excuses, half-truths, or outright deception. How was she supposed to react when she knew it was happening again?

The worst part was the feeling hanging over the house. Like a bomb was suspended above all of them, dangling by a thread no one was willing to cut.

Her father spent more time on the phone than ever before. Her mother could barely look her in the eye. The entire house felt tense, everyone waiting for something that never seemed to come. Jade tried convincing herself it was because of the argument. Her mother was upset that she and her father weren't getting along, and her father was too stubborn to admit he was wrong. That had to be it.

But deep down she knew better. Something was happening and it was something bad.

It finally came to a head during dinner. Like always, dinner seemed to be the only time she could corner her father long enough to get a straight answer before he disappeared for "work."

The three of them sat around the large dining table in silence. The only sounds were forks scraping against plates and the occasional clink of a glass. Jade finally had enough.

"What is going on?"

Both of her parents looked up.

"What do you mean, Jade?" her father asked.

Jade stared at him in disbelief before gesturing toward her mother, who was already trying to discreetly wipe tears from her eyes.

"What do I mean? Look at Mom."

Both parents went quiet.

"She cries every time she sees me, and I don't know if you've noticed, but you've been drinking a whole lot more lately."

Her father immediately looked guilty. The slight flush in his cheeks told her he'd already had enough alcohol to feel it. He lowered his head and rubbed his forehead while her mother struggled to compose herself.

"If somebody died, then just say it." Honestly, that would've been easier. "No one died," her father answered.

The words should've been comforting. Instead, they somehow made things worse. Especially when her mother let out a broken sob the second he said it and her father shot her a look.

Jade sat there watching the two of them fumble through emotions neither seemed capable of controlling anymore.

Eventually her mother broke. "I'm sorry, Jade." The words came out between sobs. Jade actually flinched while across the table, her father looked stunned that his wife had finally reached her limit.

"Me and your father have been struggling financially," her mother admitted. "Ever since the Panther Syndicate found new leadership, most of our people left and went to them. Our business... it just fell apart."

Jade didn't know every detail of what her parents did. She knew it was illegal and she knew it made them rich. That was about it.

But suddenly the empty house made sense.

The missing staff.

The missing guards.

The silence.

People had moved on and found better opportunities.

"No..." Her mother swallowed hard. "Well, yes. But that's not all of it." She looked down at her plate. "We've been in debt to the Panther Syndicate for years. Back when T'Chaka ran it, we were making payments and slowly working our way out."

The bitterness that entered her mother's voice was immediate. "Then he showed up." Jade glanced at her father. His jaw had tightened so hard she thought his teeth might crack.

"Killmonger?"

Silence.

That was all the confirmation she needed. The mystery man finally had a name. And apparently her father was terrified of him.

"So you owe the debt to him now?" Jade asked slowly. "And the guy who came here the other week... he works for the Panther Syndicate?"

Her father nodded once. "I wish it was his son that took over" He spoke bitterly

"T'Challa could've taken over," her mother said quietly. "But he chose a different life."

Jade respected that. If only her parents had done the same.

"So how much do you owe?" Neither parent answered immediately but then her father spoke. "We owed twenty-five million."

Jade nearly choked.

"Twenty-five million?" She stared at him.

How the hell did someone even get that deep into debt? But something about his wording caught her attention.

Owed.

Past tense.

"Owed?" she repeated. "So it's paid off?"

The moment she asked, her mother started crying again.

Jade closed her eyes as at this point the crying was becoming more frustrating than reassuring. She still had no clue what was actually happening.

"We..." her mother began shakily. "We did."

Jade stared.

"Then what the hell is the problem?"

Her father's chair scraped against the floor.

"Language, Jade!" His voice boomed through the room. "You do not raise your voice at us."

"I wouldn't have to if you'd stop lying!" Years of frustration exploded out of her. "For years it's been lie after lie after lie. I'm tired of it, Dad! Just tell me what's going on!"

The room fell silent...Her breathing was heavy...Her mother was crying...And her father...

Her father just stared at her. The look in his eyes made something cold crawl down her spine.

Then he spoke...

"We sold you to Killmonger."

Everything stopped for the moment as Jade blinked, waiting for a gotcha moment, "We had no choice."

Surely she'd heard him wrong.

Sold?...Sold?!

Like she was property?! Like she was some object to be traded away?!

Her mouth opened but nothing came out. Across the table, her mother looked completely broken. Her father looked furious. Not at her but himself...The room was quiet minus the sobs as Jade just couldn't believe what she was hearing.

Then headlights appeared outside the window was enough to cut the emotions as Jade turned and saw Several black SUVs rolled onto the property. The vehicles came to a stop and men began stepping out. Suits cleaned and sharp with weapons on their person, not even bothering to hide it.

Her stomach dropped.

"Daddy..."

His expression shattered hearing the fear in her voice

"I'm sorry, Jade."

"How could you do this?"

"I promise it won't be bad."

The words did absolutely nothing to comfort her. The front doors opened before anyone could knock and not like anybody stopped them. The house that once housed an army of guards no longer had anyone left to resist. Jade remained frozen in her chair, staring blankly at the untouched food in front of her.

Sold...She'd been sold. Why had she come back? Why hadn't she stayed in Atlanta? God, she should've stayed in Atlanta. Heavy footsteps echoed through the dining room as a shadow loomed over Jade.

"Zuri." The name was familiar. Jade looked up and immediately recognized the man from outside her father's office. He looked tired. Older than she remembered. And deeply uncomfortable.

His eyes found hers. For a moment neither spoke. They didn't need to. The apology was already written across his face.

He was sorry...Sorry for whatever came next.

"We're here to collect Lincoln," he said quietly.

"I understand. I informed her as best I could." Not that it had helped. Jade could barely breathe.

The room suddenly felt too small. Too warm. Too suffocating.

"Good," Zuri replied. "We should leave soon. Mr. Stevens will be arriving shortly."

He placed a hand on her shoulder. And every survival instinct she had exploded at once. Run. Jade shoved her chair back and bolted. She had no destination but just get away. Behind her she heard both her father, mother and Zuri telling her to stop and to tell the men to grab her. Thick heavy arms wrapped around her waist.

She screamed and fought immediately, biting down on someone's arm hard enough to make them curse.

"Shit!" The grip loosened and for one glorious second she thought she was free. Then two more men caught her, they kept well away from her teeth and locked down her legs before she could kick them.

Jade thrashed anyway, fighting like a wild animal as panic consumed every rational thought she had left.

"You can't do this!" Jade's voice cracked as she screamed the words, struggling against the men holding her even though she already knew it was useless. "I'm not something you can just sell away when it's convenient!"

Her eyes locked onto her parents. Her mother was crying so hard she could barely breathe, while her father couldn't even look at her. The sight only made the betrayal hurt more. For years they had protected her, claimed everything they did was because they loved her.

And now they were handing her over. Like she was nothing. Like she was a bargaining chip.

"I hate you!" she screamed. The words ripped themselves from her throat before she could stop them. "I hate both of you!"

Tears streamed freely down her face now. The fight slowly drained from her body, leaving behind nothing but heartbreak and exhaustion. Her knees threatened to buckle, and if the men weren't holding her upright she would've collapsed onto the floor. Neither of her parents responded. That somehow hurt the most.

Zuri let out a quiet breath before looking toward her father. "We'll be leaving now." Jade heard her mother break into another sob. She couldn't bring herself to look at either of them anymore.

What was the point? Her whole world had shattered in the span of a few minutes.

Her career. Her apartment plans. Her future.

Everything she'd worked toward suddenly felt meaningless.

The men escorted her outside while she stared numbly ahead. The evening air felt colder than she remembered, the breeze brushing against her skin as they guided her down the front steps. She didn't fight this time and what would be the point? The people who were supposed to protect her had already made their choice.

She was led to the first SUV and helped inside. The leather seat felt stiff beneath her as the door shut with a heavy thud. Moments later, Zuri climbed in beside her. The convoy began to move and Jade kept her eyes fixed on her lap. She couldn't bear to watch her childhood home disappear behind them. Couldn't bear to see the place she'd spent most of her life growing smaller in the distance.

After several minutes of silence, Zuri finally spoke.

"I know my words probably won't help right now..." Jade didn't respond. "...but it won't be as bad as you're imagining."

That almost made her laugh. Almost. Instead she continued staring at her clenched hands.

Zuri shifted uncomfortably beside her. "He can be... difficult." That got her attention. She slowly lifted her eyes toward him.

"Difficult?"

The older man grimaced.

"A little aggressive."

"A little?"

"He has a temper."

Jade snorted bitterly.

"Wonderful."

"He also tends to be stubborn. Impatient. Hotheaded."

Each description somehow made her situation sound worse. Zuri rubbed the back of his neck.

"But he does have a good heart."The hesitation before he said it was impossible to miss. "Deep down."

Jade stared at him. Even he didn't sound convinced. The silence stretched between them for a few moments before she finally asked the question that had been clawing at her since dinner.

"Am I being trafficked by this man?"

The words felt disgusting leaving her mouth but Zuri immediately shook his head which made her let out a breath.

"No." For the first time all night, Jade felt the smallest amount of relief. It wasn't much, but it was something.

"Then why?" she asked quietly. "What could he possibly want with me?"

Zuri looked out the window for a moment before answering.

"You'll be marrying Mr. Stevens."

Jade froze. The city lights outside blurred together, for a second she wondered if she'd heard him wrong.

Marrying? No. No, she definitely heard him correctly. The word echoed through her mind until it drowned out everything else.

"You'll become his wife," Zuri continued carefully. "The marriage settles the debt and creates a formal union between families."

A union. Like this was some medieval kingdom. Like she was livestock being exchanged between powerful houses.

Jade felt sick. Her stomach twisted violently as she looked away from him. Twenty-six years old. A veterinary degree. A future she'd built with her own hands.

And none of it mattered.

Outside the window, the lights of the city stretched endlessly into the darkness ahead. Jade rested her head against the cool glass and closed her eyes. Part of her wanted to run and fight. She even wanted to wake up and discover this had all been some horrible nightmare.

But deep down, a terrible feeling had already begun settling into her chest.

This wasn't the end of her problems. It was the beginning. The beginning of a life she never asked for. The beginning of a darkness that had been circling her since birth, patiently waiting for the moment it could finally sink its claws into her. And somehow she knew that even if she ran, even if she fought with everything she had, even if she managed to escape...

The Uber ride to the studio was familiar by now. When they arrived, she thanked the driver, left a tip, and stepped out into the California sunshine. The security guard at the gate recognized her immediately.

"Morning, Ms. Bennett."

"Morning."

She flashed her laminated studio pass and continued through.

The lot was already alive with activity. Crew members hurried between buildings carrying equipment. Golf carts zipped along designated paths. Someone was adjusting a lighting rig while another group wheeled set pieces toward a nearby soundstage.

It was chaotic. Like organized chaos and it was becoming more like the kind Zoe loved.

"Zoe!"

She stopped and turned seeing Rebecca was making her way across the lot toward her. Today her blonde hair was pulled into a neat bun, and a pair of glasses rested on her nose.

"Hey, Rebecca," Zoe greeted. "I was just heading to the script read."

"Perfect. Before that, I need to steal you for a few minutes." Immediately Zoe wondered what she'd forgotten.

Rebecca seemed to notice. "Nothing bad. We think one of the wardrobe tops may have been fitted incorrectly. We just want to double-check before everything gets finalized."

"Oh. Yeah, of course." Wardrobe was important. Painfully important, sometimes.

Zoe had lost count of how many interviews she'd seen where fans dissected outfits down to the brand of socks a character wore. Half the time the characters were supposed to be broke, and yet somehow they were wearing clothes worth thousands of dollars. Hollywood was funny like that.

As they walked toward the wardrobe department, Zoe noticed several promotional posters hanging throughout the building.

Not official character posters yet. Just atmospheric artwork like a dark horizon with Alien structures. The title Black Horizon stretched across the center.

"We'll be doing photoshoots soon too," Rebecca explained. "Marketing wants plenty of material before post-production starts. Gives the editors more time to avoid mistakes."

She sounded exhausted. Zoe couldn't help but laugh softly.

"It really shows how many people are involved when you walk around here."

Rebecca snorted. "You have no idea."

Years of experience sat behind those four words.

Zoe could only imagine the number of moving parts required to make a film like this happen. When they finally reached the wardrobe department, familiar faces immediately came into view.

Assistants hurried between racks. Designers discussed fabric samples and rolling clothing racks filled the room. One section held everyday costumes. Another held action gear with everything labeled according to character and scene number.

Zoe's eyes landed on several name tags.

Zoe.

Michael.

Sterling.

Rebecca.

Her eyebrows lifted. "Wait. You're in the movie too?" Rebecca blinked before laughing. "No. That's for Rebecca Ferguson."

"Oh."

"She's playing Dr. Evelyn Hart. Elara's former mentor."

That made a lot more sense. Though Zoe had to admit she was starting to lose track of the Rebeccas involved in this production.

Rebecca must have noticed her expression.

"You can call me Bekah if it helps."

The relief on Zoe's face was immediate. "Thank you."

Bekah laughed as they approached the lead costume designer.

The man was very casual but had a spark of highlight as his hair was frosted but slicked back. He spotted Zoe and visibly relaxed.

"Thank God." That was never a reassuring opening.

"Uh... should I be worried?" Zoe asked as she rose a eyebrow "No." He waved dismissively. "One of my co-designers thinks she may have entered the wrong chest measurement during your fitting. We just want to verify it ourselves before we finalize everything."

Zoe shrugged as she has dealt with wardrobe fittings her entire career.

The women in her family had all been generously endowed, and costume adjustments had become a normal part of her life. The designer pointed toward a private fitting room.

"If you could just step in there."

"Sure."

Zoe crossed the room and knocked lightly against the door waiting for a reply.

"Come in!"

She recognized Jasmine's voice immediately. Opening the door, she found the younger designer waiting with a measuring tape draped around her neck, Red hair frazzled and a very concentrated look on her face as she was looking at the notepad.

"Oh, hey, Zoe!" Jasmine said finally giving Zoe her full attention. "Sorry about this. I think I accidentally entered the wrong measurements, and I'd rather double-check than have wardrobe hate me later. So you don't mind?"

"Not at all."

With that, Zoe stepped fully into the fitting room and closed the door behind her.

Zoe slipped off her shirt, grateful she'd chosen to wear a more fitted bra that morning. Normally, measurements could be taken over clothing, but for the most accurate fit it was better to wear something form-fitting—or nothing over it at all. Her loose shirt definitely wasn't helping.

Jasmine glanced up and immediately groaned. "Can I just say I'm jealous of your boobs?" Heat rushed to Zoe's cheeks, though she laughed.

"Trust me, I hate them. Do you know how hard it is to run with these things? I risk giving myself a black eye every time I go jogging."

The joke earned a laugh from both of them as Jasmine wrapped the measuring tape around her chest.

"I wouldn't know," Jasmine said. "The Itty Bitty Titty Committee allows me to run without fear of a concussion."

That sent them both into another round of laughter.

A few moments later Jasmine checked the measurements and threw her hands up triumphantly.

"Ha! I knew I got it right the first time."

"What?"

"Braydon thought I'd entered the numbers wrong because they seemed too big."

Zoe sighed. Unfortunately, that wasn't a new experience.

"Well, I'm glad that's settled."

She pulled her shirt back on as Jasmine grinned.

"Oh! Do you want to see the wardrobe designs? You're going to love them. I made sure the colors and styling really complemented you."

Zoe immediately brightened.

"Absolutely."

Jasmine led her back into the main wardrobe area and over to one of the costume racks.

"Did the measurements change?" Braydon called from across the room.

Jasmine shot him a thumbs-up. "It was right!"

The visible relief on his face was almost comical before he immediately returned to organizing outfits and discussing alterations with another designer. Jasmine guided Zoe toward a rack labeled with her character's name. Several versions of the same outfits hung together, each one distressed differently to reflect the wear and tear throughout the film. There were flashback outfits, casual clothes, field gear, and farther down the rack sat a sleek black tactical suit.

The moment Zoe saw it, she smiled. She remembered the concept art as the first time she saw it she immediately fell in love with it.

"Overall, Elara's wardrobe is pretty simple," Jasmine explained. "But when it's all put together, it tells the story of someone who's been fighting to save humanity for years."

Zoe nodded thoughtfully as her fingers brushed across the sleeve of a burnt-orange sweater.

The material was unbelievably soft. She could already picture Elara choosing something like this on purpose. Not for style, but for comfort. For warmth. For something familiar in a life that had become anything but.

"It's beautiful," Zoe said honestly. "You really captured the character."

Jasmine's face lit up.

"Thank you. That means a lot."

Before the conversation could continue, a throat cleared behind them.

Both women turned and saw that Bekah stood there, tapping the face of her watch.

The script reading...Right.

Zoe winced and let out a bashful, "Sorry."

"It's fine," Bekah said as she didn't mind but time was running short for them.

Zoe turned back toward Jasmine.

"Thank you again. Hopefully we get a chance to talk more later."

"I'd like that," Jasmine replied.

With a final wave, she disappeared back toward Braydon, who looked seconds away from having a wardrobe-induced breakdown.

As Zoe and Bekah left the department, a question that had been bothering her resurfaced.

"I've been meaning to ask something."

Bekah glanced over to the actress while they walked

"What's up?"

Zoe hesitated for a moment before glancing to Bekah.

"Why did you pick me?"

Bekah blinked.

"For the role."

"Yeah." She shoved her hands into her pockets. "There were three other incredible actresses in that room. Why me?"

For a moment Bekah looked genuinely surprised by the question.

By now, she seemed to think the answer was obvious.

"Your chemistry with Michael."

Zoe sighed. Yeah she'd heard that part already.

"Okay, but they all had chemistry with him too, didn't they?"

Bekah nodded.

"Of course."

"And?"

"And it wasn't the right chemistry."

Zoe frowned while Bekah thought for a moment before explaining.

"With Naomi, it felt more like siblings. There was affection, trust, history—but not romance."

Zoe nodded.

"And Ayo?"

"She was good. Very good, actually. But there wasn't enough spark. Nothing that really lingered after the scene ended."

"And Sophie?"

Bekah smiled slightly.

"Sophie's chemistry with Michael was intense. Maybe a little too intense."

"Too intense?"

"It felt dark. Like two people dragging each other deeper into a bad situation."

Zoe considered that. It made sense.

"And me?"

Bekah didn't answer immediately. Instead, she looked ahead as they continued walking. When she finally spoke, her voice was simple and matter-of-fact.

"It felt like love."

Zoe nearly tripped over her own feet as Bekah continued walking as if she hadn't just dropped a bombshell into the conversation. Meanwhile, Zoe's brain completely short-circuited. Part of her—the embarrassing part that had spent years watching Michael B. Jordan movies and pretending she wasn't crushing on him—was internally screaming.

The other part of her that wanted to be professional and not let the past make a fool of herself, wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out again.

Because apparently the entire production team had watched them together and thought:

Yep. That's what falling in love looks like.

And somehow that was even more terrifying than the audition itself.

When Zoe arrived at the building, she immediately noticed several actors and actresses had already gathered for the script read.

The sight alone nearly made her turn around and question if she belonged there.

Standing near the refreshments table was Sterling K. Brown, who she knew from This Is Us and Black Panther. In Black Horizon, he would be playing Director Marcus Reed, the head of the Black Horizon Program. He appeared deep in conversation with John David Washington, known for The Piano Lesson and Tenet, who had been cast as Captain Damian Cross, Jace Calloway's right-hand man.

A little farther away stood Lupita Nyong'o and Florence Pugh. The two women were chatting comfortably with one another, already looking like they'd known each other for years. Lupita would be playing Dr. Amara Okoye, while Florence had been cast as Lieutenant Ava Mercer.

Zoe's eyes kept moving around the room.

It felt less like a script reading and more like a gathering of Hollywood's elite.

Before she could fully process that thought, the doors opened again.

Pedro Pascal walked in. Almost immediately, several people greeted him as he made his way through the room. He would be playing Gabriel Ortiz, a man whose loyalties remained questionable throughout much of the film.

Not long after him came Giancarlo Esposito. The actor carried himself with the same calm confidence Zoe had seen in countless interviews. He had been cast as Dr. Eric Voss, a scientist suspected of hiding crucial information about the alien threat.

And that was only a fraction of the cast. Everywhere she looked, there seemed to be another familiar face.

Award winners. Box office stars. Actors she'd watched for years.

Meanwhile, she was somehow standing among them. The realization made her stomach flip. She was so busy staring at everyone that she almost missed someone stepping up beside her.

"Feeling overwhelmed Elara?"

The familiar voice made her jump. She looked over and found Michael standing there with a coffee in hand.

"A little bit, can you blame me Jace" she admitted with a smile as she played around with him using her character name.

Michael laughed as he took a sip of his coffee while looking at her with a smirk already clocking her sugar coating it

"A little?"

"Okay, a lot."

That earned another chuckle from him. Zoe looked back around the room.

"Do you ever get used to this?"

"Honestly?" Michael shrugged. "Not really. You just get better at pretending you're not freaking out."

That made her laugh.. Because for the last five minutes she'd been convinced everyone in the room could hear her heartbeat.

"Trust me," Michael continued. "Half the people in here are probably feeling the same way."

Zoe glanced over at Sterling K. Brown.

"I somehow doubt that."

Michael followed her gaze and grinned.

"Okay. Maybe not Sterling."

For the first time since arriving, Zoe felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. Maybe she did belong here.

At least enough to sit at the table. The rest she would figure out as she went.

The observation deck was rarely busy after midnight. Most of the facility's personnel were either asleep or buried inside laboratories chasing answers that never seemed to come. The Arctic sky stretched endlessly beyond the reinforced glass, stars glittering against the darkness while snow swept across the frozen landscape.

Dr. Elara Vance stood at the window, a tablet balanced in one hand. The signal had been silent for six hours and that should have been reassuring. Instead, it felt like the calm before a storm.

Behind her, the door slid open.

"Please tell me you're not still working."

Elara glanced over her shoulder. Dr. Amara Okoye stepped inside carrying two steaming cups of coffee.

"You know," Amara continued, crossing the room, "normal people sleep."

"Normal people aren't trying to decode an alien transmission."

"Excuses."

Elara accepted the offered coffee anyway and Amara smiled victoriously.

"Thought so."

The two women moved toward the glass, watching the snow dance outside. For a few moments neither spoke. Then Amara nudged her shoulder.

"He's worried about you."

Elara immediately knew who she meant.

"I'm not having this conversation."

"You knew exactly who I was talking about."

"I work with a very limited number of people."

"Mhmm."

Elara rolled her eyes but Before Amara could continue her interrogation, the doors opened again.

Captain Damian Cross entered first. Behind him came Jace Holloway.

The two men were in the middle of an argument.

"...because that's a terrible idea."

"It's the only lead we have."

"It's also how people end up frozen to death."

"Good evening to you too," Amara called out as Damian sighed dramatically.

"See? This is what I deal with."

Jace ignored him though as his gaze immediately landed on Elara. Eyes moving over her with a quick check and making sure she was alright.

The look lasted barely a second before he turned toward the windows. Amara noticed though and unfortunately for Elara, her grin widened and no amount of glares took away the fact that Amara looked delighted by this.

"Where's Lieutenant Mercer?" Elara asked deciding to ignore how Amara was trying to make something out of nothing.

"Still in Communications," Damian answered. "Apparently half the satellites are trying to point themselves north again."

The room fell quiet as that wasn't normal. Nothing involving the signal was ever normal.

Jace crossed his arms as he frowned "What caused it?"

"No clue."

"That's becoming a pattern."

Damian pointed at him. "Exactly what I said." Before anyone could continue, the observation deck doors opened once more.

Lieutenant Ava Mercer hurried inside carrying a tablet.

"Found you." Everyone immediately straightened. They noticed how Ava was out of breath which was not a good sign.

"What happened?" Jace asked.

"The signal."

Elara's pulse quickened.

"What about it?" she asked, walking over as  Ava handed over the tablet.

"The array picked up a burst twenty minutes ago."

The room instantly shifted. Elara scanned the data and couldn't help but feel her stomach drop.

"That's impossible." Jace moved beside her. "What is it?"

"The signal wasn't transmitting." Ava nodded as Elara was catching on now with the problem.

"It wasn't." Elara zoomed in on the waveform as her fingers tightened around the device.

"It was responding."

Amara leaned in to look at the waveform herself while feeling her mouth going dry, no longer grinning.

"Responding to what?"

Elara looked up. Outside the glass, the communications tower stood against the frozen horizon. Red warning lights blinked rhythmically. One....Two...Three.

A thought struck her and it was a horrible one. The realization hit so suddenly she nearly dropped the tablet to the ground as her head shook.

"No."

Jace noticed immediately the distress which made him approach her with concern.

"What?"

Elara looked at him. For the first time all evening, genuine fear crossed her face.

"The satellites aren't pointing north."

"What are they doing then?"

Her voice was barely above a whisper as the bombshell shattered above them

"They're looking at us."

The observation deck fell completely silent. Outside, snow continued to sweep across the ice. Far above the Arctic sky, unseen by any of them, dozens of satellites slowly adjusted their positions.

Watching and Waiting.

And for the first time since the mission began, every person in the room understood the same terrifying possibility. Something was no longer sending a message. Something was listening.

The script reading turned out to be a huge success. There had been laughter throughout the room, a few tears during the heavier moments, and more than one shocked reaction when the story's biggest twist was revealed. Even some of the veteran actors looked genuinely surprised, which made Joe look ridiculously pleased with himself.

But the moments people seemed most invested in were the scenes between Elara and Jace. Every time Zoe and Michael shared a scene, she could feel eyes drifting toward them. Not in a judgmental way but like everyone was trying to understand what the casting team had seen during the chemistry read.

Zoe barely noticed most of it. Once she started reading, she had fallen completely into Elara's mindset. The room, the actors, the pressure—it all faded away until there was only the story.

"That's the end."

Denis closed his script and set it on the table and the spell immediately broke...Already? Zoe blinked and sat back in her chair. A smile spread across her face.

"That was beautiful." Several people around the table nodded in agreement.

"It was good," Pedro said. "Really good. I think you've got an A-list movie on your hands."

Joe immediately looked like someone had handed him a winning lottery ticket.

"Thank you," he said. "I put everything I had into this script."

Then he pointed around the room. "But you all brought it to life. Seriously, you guys nailed your roles." He clasped his hands together and gave a small appreciative bow that earned a few laughs.

Once the room settled again, Denis stood. "We'll begin filming next week. Wardrobe has been finalized, schedules have been distributed, and production is ready to move forward."

Everyone seemed relieved to hear it.

"Oh, and one more thing." The room quieted.

"We'll have an intimacy coordinator on set for anyone involved in the romance subplot. Make sure you check in with Samantha Isles before filming begins."

A few people nodded knowingly. Zoe did her best to remain calm. Inside, however, she immediately remembered the existence of the romance subplot and the scenes attached to it.

Don't think about it....Too late. Denis clapped his hands once.

"That's all for today. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon."

The room immediately erupted into movement as chairs scraped back and conversations resumed. Zoe packed up her script and slid it into her bag. She had barely stood up before a familiar voice called out behind her.

"Hey, Z."

She turned and saw Michael was leaning against the table, a grin already on his face.

Zoe raised an eyebrow.

"Nicknames now?"

"Yeah."

"Since when?"

"Since about five seconds ago."

She rolled her eyes despite smiling at how charming he naturally was

"What is it?"

For a brief moment, Michael looked oddly uncertain. The hesitation was so unexpected that it caught her off guard.

"I was wondering if you'd want to run lines together sometime before filming starts."

"Run lines?"

"Mostly our scenes," he clarified. "I just want to make sure I'm ready."

Zoe stared at him.

Him?

Ready?

This was Michael B. Jordan! Meanwhile she'd spent half the morning wondering if she was going to accidentally embarrass herself in front of an Oscar-worthy cast.

"Yeah, totally," she said. "I'd be happy to."

His shoulders visibly relaxed.

"I'll text you when I'm free."

"Sounds good."

There was a brief pause and neither of them seemed in a hurry to leave. Eventually Zoe cleared her throat and adjusted the strap of her bag.

"Well, I should get going."

"Yeah."

She took a few steps backward before pointing at him.

"See you around, Jace."

The grin that crossed his face was immediate.

"See you around, Elara."

Zoe turned and walked away before her face could betray how much she enjoyed that.

Zoe had money, more than she'd ever dreamed of having growing up, but she wasn't about to spend it on something she'd wear once before shoving it into the back of a closet. Even if the shopping was a bust, the food more than made up for it.

That evening she found herself seated at a rooftop restaurant overlooking the city. The skyline glowed beneath the setting sun, painting the glass towers in shades of gold and orange. She ate alone, but she didn't mind. Every now and then someone recognized her from a movie or television show and stopped by to ask for an autograph or a picture.

The interactions were always brief and respectful, and seeing how excited people got never failed to make her smile.

Los Angeles had always been fun. And if she landed this role, she could definitely see herself spending a lot more time here.

Eventually the evening came to an end. Back in her hotel room, she laid out her outfit for the next morning, checked the studio address for what felt like the hundredth time, and set three separate alarms.

Sleep didn't come easily. Every time she closed her eyes, her mind drifted back to Black Horizon. To Elara. To the chemistry read. To the possibility that everything could change tomorrow.

When morning finally arrived, Zoe was awake before her alarms had the chance to go off.

After a quick shower and a light breakfast she barely tasted, she got dressed, gathered her things, and headed downstairs. The California morning air was cool against her skin as she stepped outside and climbed into the car waiting to take her to the studio.

The closer she got, the faster her heart seemed to beat.

Soon the familiar studio gates came into view.

Taking a steadying breath, Zoe rolled down the window and gave security the passcode Rebecca had sent her.

The driver pulled up outside a small studio building. Zoe was already familiar with it, this was where she'd come for her last callback, the one where she'd performed scenes in front of the director and producer. After tipping the driver, she stepped out and made her way toward the entrance.

She needed to calm down. She had this, she'd studied Elara inside and out, spent weeks preparing, and watched countless films in the same genre. She knew the character and she knew the material.

Opening the door, she stepped into the green room—and immediately froze. Sitting inside were Naomi Scott, Ayo Edebiri, and Sophie Thatcher.

All three were incredible actresses and suddenly, Zoe felt very, very intimidated.

"Oh, hey! You're Zoe Bennett!" Sophie said with a grin. "I loved you in Empire of Ashes."

The compliment caught Zoe off guard, but she found herself smiling.

"Ah, yeah?"

The nerves in her stomach loosened just a little when Sophie nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah! Me and my friend were obsessed with it. We were definitely shocked when we saw you naked, though. But hey, you've got a banging body."

Zoe laughed. "That was the first time I've ever been naked on camera. Thankfully everyone was really respectful about it. The final product turned out great, though." She paused. "That episode was one my dad definitely skipped."

"I can't blame him," Naomi said with a laugh. The room chuckled, and Zoe felt herself relax even more.

"So, have you guys gone in yet?" she asked. The three shook their heads.

"Nope," Ayo said, setting down a magazine and stretching. "We just got here. Rebecca said we're waiting on Michael before we start."

Zoe blinked. "Michael?"

"Yeah. Michael B. Jordan."

The name hit her like a freight train. Her brain stalled completely.

Michael B. Jordan?

As in Creed?

As in Black Panther?

As in that Michael B. Jordan?

He was playing Jace Calloway?

"M-Michael B. Jordan?" she repeated. "Like... Creed Michael B. Jordan?"

The other women immediately noticed the panic returning to her face. "Hey, it's gonna be okay," Sophie assured her, patting her knee. "He's actually really chill. Total professional."

Zoe quickly shook her head.

"Oh, no. That's not what I'm worried about."

The three exchanged curious looks.

Zoe dropped her face into her hands.

"I have the biggest damn celebrity crush on him."

The room exploded with laughter. "Oh, you poor thing," Ayo managed between laughs which made Zoe groan louder.

"No, seriously. This is a disaster."

"Could be worse," Naomi said, still smiling.

"How?"

"At least you'll get to act out the romance scenes with him."

Zoe looked up. "What romance scenes?" Naomi blinked and wondered where Zoe has been at. "You didn't hear?"

"Hear what?"

The actresses exchanged looks.

"Oh no," Sophie muttered.

Zoe sat up straighter.

"What?"

"Apparently they made script changes a few weeks ago," Naomi explained. "My manager told me they added a romance subplot."

"A romance subplot?" Zoe choked out with her eyes widening.  "Yeah."

The silence stretched. "Is that why we're doing chemistry reads?" Zoe asked slowly. All three women nodded in unison which made Zoe's eyes widened.

"Oh no."

"There's supposed to be kissing scenes," Naomi added.

Zoe looked horrified.

"Oh no."

"And a pretty intimate scene."

"OH NO."

She buried her face back into her hands.

"I'm not ready for this."

Part of her briefly considered getting up, walking out the door, and pretending she'd never received the callback in the first place. Unfortunately, she didn't get the chance.

The door opened and Rebecca stepped into the room holding a clipboard. "Okay, ladies, ready?"

She paused when she noticed Zoe looking like she was in the middle of an existential crisis.

"...Everything okay?"

"No," Zoe answered honestly.

Rebecca laughed as she did not know and was not paid to ask. "Well, Michael's here and ready to start, so we'll be going alphabetically."

Ayo stood.

"That's me."

Rebecca nodded. "You're up first."

With one final stretch, Ayo rose from her chair and followed Rebecca out of the room, leaving Zoe alone with her thoughts.

Well, almost alone.

Naomi and Sophie were still there, but Zoe barely heard the conversations around her. Her attention remained fixed on the closed door. Every so often, muffled voices drifted through the wall, followed by the occasional burst of applause. Then Ayo emerged with a smile on her face, and Naomi was called in next.

The cycle repeated.

Wait.

Applause.

Door opens.

Door closes.

Soon it was just Sophie and Zoe remaining.

Sophie did her best to calm her nerves, but the relief never lasted long. Every reassuring word seemed to fade the moment Zoe remembered who was waiting on the other side of that door.

Michael B. Jordan.

By the time Sophie was called in, Zoe felt like she might throw up.

The room seemed impossibly quiet after Sophie left. Zoe sat alone, twisting her fingers together as her imagination ran wild. She didn't even know what scene they were reading. She hadn't received the updated script. For all she knew, she was about to walk into a full-blown romance scene completely unprepared.

When the door finally opened again, Zoe nearly jumped out of her seat.

Rebecca stepped into the waiting room.

"Zoe?"

Zoe was already standing.

"Uh, Ms. Sterling?" she started quickly. "I wasn't aware the scenes had been changed to include romance. I never received an updated script."

Rebecca didn't seem concerned in the slightest.

"It's fine. Denis will explain the scene, and then we'll have you perform it."

That should have reassured her but it didn't. Because explaining the scene wasn't the problem. The problem was that Michael B. Jordan was in there...Waiting.

Zoe swallowed hard and followed Rebecca into the room. Her heart felt like it was trying to punch its way out of her chest.

"Zoe Bennett," Rebecca announced. Zoe's eyes immediately found Denis Villeneuve, who greeted her with a warm smile. Beside him sat Mary Parent, who offered a polite nod while studying her carefully.

Then Zoe looked to the side. And there he was. Michael B. Jordan.

He sat comfortably in a chair wearing a simple black T-shirt and dark slacks. Nothing that screamed movie star and Oscar winner. And somehow that made him even more attractive.

Oh, this is terrible...So terrible

He looked up as she entered, their eyes met and for a moment neither of them looked away.

Zoe felt her stomach flip. Why was he staring at her like that?

The intensity of it made her pulse quicken, and she quickly forced herself to look elsewhere.

"Morning, Mr. Villeneuve. Ms. Parent."

"Morning, Ms. Bennett," Denis replied. "We're glad you could make it. We know this chemistry read was a bit spontaneous."

He gestured toward another man seated nearby.

"Joe felt there should be some romance between the leads. Something that would strengthen the emotional core and help bring in a wider audience."

Joe Robert Cole gave her a small nod.

"Oh. Yeah. Totally." Zoe nodded as though she understood, despite the fact that her brain was still stuck on Michael being ten feet away.

"So... how exactly does this work?" she asked. "Do we... uh... are we kissing?"

A small laugh escaped Michael, it wasn't mocking but held amusement. Still, Zoe felt heat immediately crawl up her neck.

Denis chuckled with a shake of his head.

"No, sweetheart. Nothing like that. We're simply looking for emotional chemistry."

Relief washed over her.

"We'll be reading a scene where the power has failed inside an underground facility. Elara and Jace are trapped together in a maintenance tunnel."

Okay. That she could do.

No kissing. No romance. Just plain acting. Zoe nodded and walked toward the center of the room. Michael rose from his chair and met her halfway and now up close was somehow worse...Or better. No, No Definitely worse.

"Hi," she managed.

"Hey."

The confidence in his voice was effortless. The kind of confidence that came from knowing exactly who you were and how to do your job.

"Don't worry," he said. "This won't be bad. You're a great actress. I've seen your work." The words immediately eased some of the tension knotting her shoulders.

"Thanks, Michael." She smiled before she took a slow breath.

One in. One out.

Then another.

The room faded away. The nerves. The pressure. Piece by piece, Zoe slipped into Elara Vance.

She lowered herself onto the floor, imagining the cold metal walls of a maintenance tunnel surrounding her.

Across from her, Michael did the same.

And just like that, the audition began.

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Emergency lights flickered overhead, one moment a harsh red glow, the next complete darkness, broken only by the faint green light of Elara’s tablet as it to cut in and out.

The walls groaned and creaked around them, the structure straining under whatever force was tearing through it. It felt like the room itself was closing in. Elara’s back was pressed against the wall. Across from her, Jace refused to look directly at her. And when he did, his gaze cut sharp—tight with suspicion, with anger she could feel even without words.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew he blamed her.

“Still think I caused all of this?” Her voice came out tired, strained, as she fought with the tablet in her hands. The device kept flickering, power stuttering like something was actively interfering with it.

Whatever signal the aliens were sending—it was corrupting everything.

“I think you’re hiding something,” Jace said flatly. His eyes stayed on her as she struggled, watching without offering help.

Frustration finally snapped through her. Elara let out a sharp breath and tossed the tablet aside. It hit the ground with a dull clatter, the screen flashing in and out like it was mocking her.

“Yeah, well, join the club. Everyone thinks that.”

She was used to it—people looking at her like she was the problem. Like her theories, her work, her very presence was what brought the aliens down on them.

“Maybe because you are,” he replied. The words landed harder than she expected. Elara went still. The red emergency light flickered again, strobing between light and shadow. Each pulse carved harsher lines into Jace’s face, sharpening his scowl into something almost unreadable.

She looked away, down at the broken tablet.

“Do you know what it’s like,” she said quietly, “to be the smartest person in the room… and still have no one who wants to listen?”

It sounded arrogant if you didn’t understand it—but that wasn’t what it was. It was exhaustion. Years of it.

“For ten years I’ve tried to tell them it wasn’t a power source problem. Ten years I’ve been saying something beyond our comprehension was trying to communicate with us.”

Her voice tightened.

“So I built this stupid device to figure out what it wanted. And it didn’t matter. Nobody cared—until things started going wrong.”

The lights flickered again. Red. Darkness. Red again.

Jace watched her now, really watched her. And for a moment, something shifted in his expression. The anger didn’t disappear—but it softened at the edges.

Tiredness. Recognition. She looked exhausted. Like she’d been running long before any of this started.

“You stayed,” he said.

Elara frowned slightly. “What?”

“If everyone ignored you… why stay?”

Silence stretched between them.

Then Jace moved closer, lowering into a crouch in front of her. The distance between them disappeared.

His brown eyes locked onto hers, steady and unblinking.

“Why did you stay, Elara?”

The way he said her name—no rank, no title—landed differently. Like it mattered and Elara swallowed hard.

“Because…” Her voice dropped. “If something happened because I walked away… I’d never forgive myself.”

The confession came out quieter than she intended, fragile in a way she didn’t like showing.

Tears gathered in her eyes, not from weakness, but from everything she’d been carrying. The exhaustion. The doubt. The years of being dismissed.

Before she could say more, the entire structure jolted violently. Elara reacted on instinct, grabbing his hand. Jace immediately moved with her, pulling her in close, one arm wrapping around her protectively as the world around them shook.

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Zoe caught a faint trace of his cologne as the scene settled around them—warm, clean, disorienting in the aftermath of the intensity they’d just played out. She was still half in it, still trying to come down from Elara, when the sharp clap broke the silence.

She blinked and pulled back. Denis, Mary, and Joe were watching them like they’d just witnessed something decisive.

“That was amazing—wow,” Denis said, leaning forward slightly. He glanced to Mary and Joe, who both nodded in agreement.

“You two have incredible chemistry,” Joe added, already jotting something down next to Zoe’s name. “Honestly… I think we found our Elara.”

Zoe froze. Her name on the page. And just like that.

After everything—the callbacks, the waiting, the doubt—it was that simple?

“She was a natural,” Michael said with a quiet laugh as he stood. He offered Zoe a hand up when she hesitated, still half-stunned. “I almost forgot we weren’t actually in a tunnel for a second.”

Zoe took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet. He noticed her expression and gave her shoulder a light, reassuring pat.

“Hey, you did great. I can’t wait to work on this with you. I think we’ve got something really special here.”

“Y-yeah,” she managed, nodding as she turned back toward the group.

Everything felt slightly unreal now, like she was still inside the scene and hadn’t fully stepped out of it yet.

“We’ll start filming in about a week or two,” Denis said, checking his notes. “We’re finalizing the rest of the cast. Both of you will need to come in tomorrow for fittings. Then we’ll do some rehearsal scenes and a script read on Tuesday.”

“Sounds great,” Zoe said quickly, a little too quickly. “Can’t wait.”

Inside, her mind was already racing ahead—housing, moving, logistics. If this was real, she wasn’t just visiting LA anymore. She was living here. Soon, the session wrapped and people began to disperse.

Zoe and Michael ended up walking out at the same time. Neither of them spoke at first. Zoe was flipping through the revised script Denis had handed her, already half-absorbed in the changes.

“Hey,” Michael said after a moment.

She looked up.

“What?”

He smiled slightly, amused. “You always get that deep in your head?”

“Oh—no. I just focus really hard,” she said, snapping the script shut. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah,” he said casually. “I was wondering if you wanted to exchange numbers. You know—keep in touch. We can run lines if we need to before filming starts.”

Zoe nodded immediately. “Oh, yeah. That’s smart.” She handed him her phone without hesitation. He added his number, then passed it back so she could do the same.

“All right,” he said, tucking his phone away. “See you around, Zoe.”

“Yeah. See you.”

He walked off toward his ride while Zoe stayed where she was for a second longer, watching him go before it fully hit her.

She had his number. Michael B. Jordan’s number.

She stared at her phone like it might disappear if she blinked too hard, then quickly saved the contact under “MJ” before she could overthink it. A breathy laugh slipped out of her. This was insane.

Her Uber pulled up at the curb, snapping her back into motion. She climbed in, already reaching for her phone again.