There was a significant overlap between the Coleheads and her own readers, and she had no desire to fuel the rumors about her inspiration for Lucen. If people saw her here, it would be like throwing gasoline on the fire.
“Hi,” she mumbled, keeping her back to the line as she showed the staffer her wristband. He was sporting wraparound sunglasses and a formidable beard. “I’ve got one of these. Where do I go?”
He lifted his sunglasses to study the band, leaning over her wrist like a jeweler appraising a diamond. “Lady, with this access, you’re not standing in any lines. Come with me.”
The man nodded to a colleague to take over his spot, then led her back to the building, scanning his badge and taking her in through a service corridor. He paused outside a wide black door further in.
“First time experiencing Hall H?”
Emma nodded.
“Then take a breath. It’s quite something.”
He pulled the door open with a dramatic flourish.
Sound slammed into her like a physical force, nearly knocking her back. The man watched her, amused. “That’s the sound of 6,500 people about to see the cast of their favorite show.”
“Right,” Emma murmured, then stepped inside.
Hall H swallowed her whole. The room was dark and cavernous, with rows upon rows of black folding chairs stretching into the distance, the ceiling lost somewhere above. Sparse spotlights glowed like distant stars. It looked like the inside of a spaceship—like an actualDarkreachset. People surged in every direction, faces alight with excitement.
A sudden sense of belonging settled within her, pulling a small smile to her lips. This felt more like home than the cool, performative backstage area. These were her people—the fans, the ones obsessed with stories. For a moment, she just stood there, caught in the pulse of six thousand people breathing the same story.
“I’ll get you to your seat,” the staffer said over the noise. As he led her down an aisle, the lights dimmed, the music swelled, and a disembodied voice boomed against the walls, announcing the moderator.Applause rippled through the room as a curly-haired woman walked out onto the stage, multiplied by the many Jumbotrons.
“Are you ready?” she called, her voice echoing through the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the creators and cast ofDarkreach!”
The seats were nearly full, but the staffer guided her to a small roped-off section near the front, markedVIP access only.He unhooked the rope to let her through.
She kept her head low beneath the cap as she slipped into an empty seat. Onstage, the showrunner and head director were already seated, and a massive cheer rose as the speaker announced the next name: Patrick Corbin,Darkreach’sleading man and hero.
Emma watched unaffected as the handsome star crossed the stage. He flashed his trademark lopsided grin, one of maybe three facial expressions in his entire repertoire.
As the next two stars took the stage—female lead Indira Miller and comic relief Felix Zhang—she kept watching Patrick. There was something strained in his smile. As far as she knew, the biggest star would normally be the one to appear last. But in this case, someone had clearly decided that that would be...
The moderator called out again.
. . .and Darren Cole, starring as Kael Ferros.
Emma startled as the room exploded in screams. Everything that came before was polite applause by comparison.
And there he was.
Her heart kicked once, sharp as a bass drop, as Darren stepped onto the stage. His face hit the Jumbotron, a fraction delayed from reality, the double-image making it surreal.
He crossed the stage with easy strides, catching a high five from Felix on the way. Taller than she’d imagined, devastatingly good-looking in a simple white button-down. Five o’clock stubble shaded his cheeks. As he pulled out his chair, he scanned the room, looking both relaxed and alert.
“I love you, Lucen!” someone shrieked from her row, just a few seats over. She shrank back, discreetly angling her body away.
The moderator launched into questions, starting with Patrick, who offered something pompous about howDarkreachexplored the human condition through the lens of war. The words sounded memorized, like someone else had written them for him.
Felix jumped in next, his hot dog-patterned neon sweatsuit almost blinding Emma when it hit the Jumbotrons. He cracked a joke about how his character would probably survive the apocalypse by hiding in a vending machine. It seemed to be a reference to some kind of energy beverage he was promoting, but the room still erupted in laughter.
Indira followed—articulate, clearly intelligent. But there was a chill to her elegance, something faintly disdainful beneath the polish. She wore a cut-out bodysuit that looked less like clothing and more like she’d been attacked by a roll of black masking tape.
All three of them came across as people trying very hard not to look like they were trying very hard.
And then there was Darren.
