Shade didn't rush.
Rushing was for people who wanted things.Shade preferred to need nothing.
That's what she told herself, at least—while she stood by the practice room mirror and watched Nova review rehearsal footage for the fifth time. Nova tapped through timestamps like a machine, eyes sharp, posture strict. Control wrapped around her like armor.
Echo lounged nearby on the couch, scrolling on her phone with exaggerated boredom, as if rehearsals weren't serious enough to deserve her attention.
They were, though.
Echora's debut wasn't a dream anymore. It was a deadline.
And deadlines didn't care if you were ready.
Nova flicked her gaze up. "We're still missing two members."
Echo didn't look up from her phone. "You've said that fourteen times. Do you want a cake to celebrate it?"
Nova exhaled through her nose. "I want solutions."
"Ah," Echo murmured. "So you're asking for miracles."
Shade watched the exchange quietly, arms folded. Nova and Echo were a constant friction—like flint struck against stone. Sparks for no reason. Sparks for every reason.
It was… interesting.
Sometimes Shade wondered if Echo teased Nova because it entertained her.
Other times Shade suspected it was because Echo liked seeing Nova react. Like she wanted proof that Nova could still feel things under all that control.
Shade didn't comment. She had long ago learned that some dynamics were best observed, not interrupted.
Nova set the tablet down and turned toward them like a commander addressing her squad.
"I'm scouting tonight," Nova said. "I want candidates who can hold performance energy. Not hobbyists. Not casual singers. People who can take direction."
Echo finally looked up, eyes bright with mischief. "Oh, so you want obedience."
Nova's expression didn't change, but her jaw tightened a fraction. "I want professionalism."
Echo smiled. "Same thing in a prettier font."
Shade's mouth twitched.
Nova shot her a glance. "You have something to add?"
Shade blinked once. Neutral expression. Controlled posture.
This was the moment.
Not dramatic. Not obvious. Just… a door left slightly open.
Shade cleared her throat, voice calm, almost careless. "I've seen someone."
Nova's attention sharpened instantly. "Seen."
Echo's head tilted like a cat hearing a sound.
Shade continued like she hadn't noticed. Like her pulse wasn't suddenly loud. Like her throat wasn't dry.
"She's not part of the scene we've been scouting," Shade said. "But she has presence. She used to be in a small group—guitarist, rapper. Her voice sits well behind a track. And she's disciplined."
Nova's eyes narrowed slightly. "Name."
Shade paused long enough for it to look thoughtful.
Not long enough to look like longing.
"Blaze."
The name landed in the room like a match dropped into oil.
Echo's eyes widened just a little—then she smiled.
Nova repeated it once, testing the shape of it. "Blaze."
Shade nodded. "I think she'd fit."
Nova studied Shade's face with that leader gaze—the one that measured people like chess pieces and didn't bother pretending otherwise.
"Why?" Nova asked.
Shade had prepared for that.
She lifted a shoulder lightly, as if the answer didn't matter. As if her heart wasn't doing something stupid inside her ribs.
"Because she's consistent," Shade said. "She doesn't chase attention. She commands it."
Echo leaned forward slightly, elbows on knees, suddenly very interested. "Ooooh."
Shade ignored her.
Nova's tone stayed flat. "Consistency isn't enough. Can she perform?"
Shade's phone was still in her pocket. Her thumb could find Blaze's clips by memory alone. She didn't need to prove anything.
"She can," Shade said. "And she can take pressure."
Nova tapped a finger against her tablet, thinking. "If she's as good as you think, why isn't she already in something bigger?"
Shade's answer came smoothly.
"Because she hasn't been asked by something worth joining."
Echo made a small sound—half laugh, half hum.
Shade shot Echo a brief warning look.
Echo only smiled wider, like Shade had just handed her a new favorite toy.
Nova didn't smile. Nova rarely did. But something in her eyes shifted—not softness, not excitement—calculation.
"Send me her profile," Nova said.
Shade nodded like this meant nothing.
"Sure."
Echo leaned back against the couch, watching Shade like she'd just discovered a new genre of entertainment.
When Nova turned away to return to rehearsal plans, Echo scooted closer until she was speaking only to Shade.
Low voice. Dangerous voice.
"So," Echo whispered, "Blaze."
Shade didn't react. "Yes."
Echo's grin sharpened. "That's not the tone you use when you're talking about recruitment."
Shade met her gaze, calm as ice. "It's strategy."
Echo blinked, then laughed quietly, like Shade had said the funniest thing in the universe.
"You're blushing," Echo murmured.
"I'm not."
Echo leaned in, delighted. "You are."
Shade's eyes narrowed. "Echo."
Echo held up her hands in surrender—fake surrender, playful surrender. "Okay, okay. It's strategy. Totally. I believe you."
Shade stared at her. "Good."
Echo's smile didn't disappear.
It only turned smug.
Shade hated how easily Echo read people.
Hated how Echo always seemed to know what the room was holding before anyone else admitted it.
Nova called across the practice space, snapping them back into work mode. "Positions. Again."
Shade moved into place without hesitation. Professional. Controlled. No sign of weakness.
But when the music started, Shade caught her reflection in the mirror.
And for the first time in a long time, Shade wondered if her face was lying to her too.
Because in the glass, her eyes looked… bright.
Like something had entered her world and refused to leave.
Echo's voice floated from beside her, a whisper disguised as a joke.
"Blaze," Echo repeated softly, like tasting it again.
Shade didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
Somehow, the name had already made itself at home in her chest.
And Shade—who didn't do crushes—was beginning to realize her body didn't care what her rules were.