Because taking control is always the right thing to do. Right?
Emma found Leah by the cafeteria again, exactly where she’d left her. The stark lighting threw deep shadows on her face, making her look tired in a way Emma had never seen. Her head was bent over her phone, fingers moving fast, a focused crease between her brows. When Emma approached, she only glanced up briefly, as if Emma were just another notification.
“Back in civilian mode then?” she said flatly.
Emma didn’t answer. She’d left the stillsuit in the wardrobe room, not sure what to do with it, just knowing she couldn’t stand seeing it for another second.
But being back in her own jeans and sweater didn’t bring her any comfort. The cotton felt alien against her body, like her skin had somehow shifted since she last wore them. Hardened into a shell—protective, lifeless.
It was probably a good thing. The slightest crack now felt like it would shatter her.
“I’m almost done canceling your interviews for the afternoon,” Leah muttered. “Just one more to go.”
“Why?” Her voice scraped, thin and cold. “I thought we were trying to take control of the narrative.”
Leah’s head lifted at that, her gaze sharpening like she was taking measurements. “Yeah. I don’t think that’s a great idea right now.”
Emma squared her jaw. Darren’s words still pulsed in her head:Is this you or Leah talking?
“Which interview is left?” she pressed out.
“BookTok Weekly. Big following, huge crossover between your fans and Darren’s. I can tell her not to ask about him, but she will anyway.”
“Good.” Emma crossed her arms, trying to steady herself. “Might as well face it so we can move on and focus on the book.”
Leah finally let her phone fall to her side and turned fully toward her. “You went to talk to him, didn’t you? What happened?”
“Creative differences.” She forced her lips into a thin smile.
“Okay.” Leah tilted her head, voice softening. “As your PR manager—and your friend—I strongly advise you not to do any interviews today. Whatever’s going on with you and Darren, clearly, you’re not in a great place right now and—”
“Noted,” Emma cut in. “Where’s the interview?”
Leah blinked, then shook her head slowly. “This is a terrible idea.”
“Well, you work for me, don’t you? Not the other way around.”
The words landed hard in the narrow corridor, cutting the air between them.
Leah stared at her, eyes wide. Emma’s stomach twisted. She had never raised her voice at Leah. Never pushed back like this.
Part of her instantly wanted to rewind, to fix it.
The other part—the one that still echoed Darren’s words in her head—held her back. She had to do this. Reclaim her own voice. Prove him wrong.
Leah rolled her shoulders, armor sliding back into place. “Fine. Your call. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Emma nodded stiffly, too tightly wound to speak. The air in the corridor pressed in, suffocating. She needed to get out of here.
“Text me the time and place,” she managed, already walking away. If she stopped, the guilt would catch up to her. Would chip away at the shell she’d built until it started cracking.
No cracks allowed.
gig
The interview setup Leah had booked was tucked into a corner of the press area. A faint note of sweat hung in the room after a day full of journalists scrambling to ask fresh questions and stars trying to come up with something new to say.
Voices rose and fell from other interview stations, but at this end of the room, it was too quiet—just Emma, the host, and Leah, arms folded, distant.
