The air at Eastbridge Academy was different that morning—buzzing with excitement, whispers, and posters fluttering on walls. The annual Talent & Culture Showcase was only two weeks away, and the entire school was preparing for auditions. Dance troupes, drama teams, musical duets—students rushed from class to rehearsals, their faces alight with hope and nerves.
Angel Dewson stood near the school noticeboard, arms folded, watching the frenzy. Her sleek braids were pulled into a high ponytail, and her sharp, almond-shaped eyes took in every detail. She was stunning—graceful in a way that made people stare, even if they didn't understand why. She didn't try to blend in. She didn't need to.
"You joining any group?" a voice asked from behind.
Angel didn't turn immediately. She recognized it—Victor. Confident, too good-looking for his own good, with a reputation for being both top of the class and the most sought-after boy in school.
She glanced over her shoulder. "I do this all the time," she replied coolly.
Victor tilted his head, amused. "You sing or dance?"
"Both," she said, then walked off before he could say anything else. Her words weren't arrogant—they were factual, calm, and dismissive in a way that left Victor staring after her.
His twin sister, Kelly V, watched the exchange from across the hall. Kelly—short for Victory—was fiery, determined, and sharp-tongued when she needed to be. Though not close to Angel yet, their being in the same performance group meant they'd been exchanging words more often. Kelly had grown to respect Angel's confidence.
Meanwhile, Hannah sat with her own group—Victor, Hannah and a few others known for their good looks and popularity. Hannah secretly crushing on Victor, laughed too hard at his jokes and lingered around him every chance she. Hannah, however, was quieter these days, observant. She still remembered the article she had found. She hadn't told anyone about Angel's past—not yet. She was waiting. Watching.
The groups for the showcase were finally posted by midday. Angel's group consisted of her, Mimi, Kelly V, a few other girls, and one boy—Jordan. Jordan was just as handsome and smart as Victor, but with a more calm, introspective energy. While Victor thrived in attention, Jordan thrived in silence. He was mysterious, brilliant in class, and effortlessly talented.
Unsurprisingly, a group of girls from another team—especially one named Tasha—had their eyes set on Jordan. Tasha's group had begun mocking Angel's group under their breath.
"Let's see how the quiet princess holds up under pressure," Tasha sneered one afternoon, as they passed by Angel and her teammates.
Mimi rolled her eyes. "Ignore her. She's just mad Jordan's not in her group."
Angel smirked. "That's her problem, not mine."
They were rehearsing in the music room that afternoon. Angel stood apart at first, arms crossed as the others practiced a simple routine. Her heart pounded harder than usual. This—this was hers and Andrew's thing. Dancing, singing, creating rhythms together. Doing it without him made her feel hollow.
Jordan noticed her hesitation. "You good?" he asked quietly.
She met his eyes. "Yeah. Just… remembering something."
He didn't press. But the moment the music started again, Angel took a breath and stepped forward.
Her movements were fluid, elegant, every beat matching her step like muscle memory. The room quieted. Even Mimi, who had been chatting with Kelly V, paused to stare.
Angel sang a few lines under her breath, not loud—just enough to test the water. Her voice, clear and haunting, wove through the room.
"Whoa," Kelly V muttered.
Mimi grinned. "Okay, main character."
Angel didn't smile. But her eyes softened.
Later that day, after practice, Mimi caught up with her. "Hey, you were amazing in there."
"Thanks."
Mimi hesitated. "You know… I saw you. In literature class. When you cried."
Angel tensed.
"I didn't tell anyone," Mimi added quickly. "I just… I know how it feels to hold stuff in. My dad's in prison. People treated me different because of it. I used to get bullied a lot."
Angel looked at her. She saw no pity in Mimi's eyes—just honesty.
"That doesn't define you," Angel said quietly.
Mimi nodded. "Neither does yours."
It wasn't friendship yet. But it was something.
Back at home, the lights in Captain Dewson's study were still on. Files and papers covered the desk, his uniform hung perfectly on the stand. He had been on a call earlier—something classified, something urgent.
When Angel got in, he came out into the hallway.
"How was practice?"
"Fine."
He studied her face.
"You're really your mother's child, you know," he said softly. "Same grace. Same fire."
Angel looked away. "I miss her."
He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Me too."
For a moment, father and daughter stood there in shared silence.
Then Angel said, "I'm going to win this thing. For Andrew."
Captain Dewson smiled. "He'd like that."
That night, Angel stood before her mirror, her band tight around her wrist, her reflection glowing in the soft light. She touched the scar near the band.
Not a weakness. A reminder.
This time, she didn't whisper.
She stared into her own eyes and said firmly:
"I'm not just surviving. I'm about to shine."