The city felt different the next day—too loud, too close. Aiven noticed it the moment he stepped outside. Every passing car made his shoulders stiffen, every unfamiliar face lingered a second too long in his vision.
He told himself he was imagining things.
At the café, Miss Liora watched him carefully as he prepared drinks, his movements precise but tense.
"You don't need to force that smile," she said gently.
Aiven paused. "Am I forcing it?"
She nodded. "You usually don't."
He looked down at the counter. "I'll be fine."
She didn't argue, only patted his hand softly before walking away.
Draven arrived later than usual, eyes sharp the moment he stepped inside. He scanned the café before sitting, posture alert.
"You were followed again," he said quietly.
Aiven froze. "I—what?"
Draven lowered his voice. "Same guy. Hoodie. Phone out. Pretending to text."
Aiven's fingers tightened around the cup he was holding. "You're sure?"
"I don't guess," Draven replied.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The café noise faded into the background.
"Did you tell Raze?" Aiven asked.
Draven shook his head. "Not yet. But this is getting closer."
Aiven swallowed. "I know."
Across town, ECLYPSE's schedule was packed tight. Interviews, fittings, choreography run-throughs—everything moving too fast. Raze answered questions automatically, his mind somewhere else entirely.
When the cameras finally shut off, Zenith pulled him aside.
"You're slipping," Zenith said calmly.
Raze laughed without humor. "I noticed."
Zenith crossed his arms. "You can't protect him if you burn yourself out."
Raze looked at him sharply. "And you? You're doing fine?"
Zenith didn't answer right away. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and for a fraction of a second, his gaze softened.
Raze saw it.
"You're worried about Draven," Raze said quietly.
Zenith's jaw tightened. "Don't read too much into things."
Raze tilted his head. "Funny. I was about to say the same to you."
That night, Aiven didn't go straight home. He took a longer route, ducking into a convenience store, pretending to browse until his pulse slowed. Only when he was sure no one was watching did he leave.
He made it to his apartment safely—but the unease followed him inside.
His phone buzzed.
Raze: Did you eat?
Aiven smiled faintly.
Aiven: Yeah. Don't worry.
Raze stared at the message from his bed, frustration curling tight in his chest. He wanted to ask more. Wanted to demand answers. But he knew Aiven hated being interrogated.
Zenith sat on the floor nearby, back against the wall, watching Raze quietly.
"You don't trust that things will stay quiet," Zenith said.
Raze shook his head. "They never do."
Zenith nodded. "Then we prepare."
Elsewhere, Draven stood on his balcony, city lights glowing below. His phone buzzed.
Zenith.
Draven hesitated before answering.
Draven: What?
Zenith: I heard something today.
Draven's chest tightened. From who?
Zenith: People talk. Fans. Staff.
Draven typed back slowly.
Draven: And?
Zenith: Your name came up.
Draven closed his eyes.
Draven: I told you not to get involved.
Zenith: Too late.
The honesty in that single message hit harder than anything else.
Draven sat down heavily, fingers running through his hair. "Damn you," he muttered softly, unsure if he meant Zenith—or himself.
That night, Aiven dreamed of waves crashing against the shore, the sound loud enough to drown out voices, messages, fear. A place far from the city, far from eyes that watched too closely.
He woke just before dawn, heart racing, a strange certainty settling in his chest.
Something was going to change soon.
Whether they were ready for it or not.