On the ride-share to Summers Brew Amelia signed the contract blindly, trusting Chase’s skill with law wouldn’t lead to consenting to anything too weird. It was done.
But Amelia still felt like she was vibrating out of her own skin.
She needed noise. Not the polite noise of the clinic or the “power couple” banter she and Chase used to armor themselves. She needed the kind of noise that drowned out thinking.
She pushed open the door to Summers Brew.
The bell chimed.
Winona was near the pastry case, adjusting chairs by half-inches. “And congrats to you for showing up,” she murmured into the air.
Tabitha was behind the counter, looking like a storm cloud that had decided to take up barricades. She didn’t look up immediately. Power move, Amelia thought with a small smile. Tabitha finished writing on a cup with aggressive flair before glancing at the door.
When she saw Amelia, her scowl deepened, but her shoulders dropped an inch. It was the body language equivalent of a sigh of relief disguised as annoyance.
Amelia knew she looked a mess. Her hair was escaping its clip, her cardigan was buttoned wrong at the bottom, and she felt unbuttoned in every sense of the word.
“Hi again!” Amelia said, stepping up to the counter, beaming because if she stopped smiling, she might start screaming. “Could I get a latte? Whole milk is fine. And maybe a shot of something that tastes like redemption?”
Tabitha uncapped her marker. She wrote AGGRESSIVELY CHEERFUL and slid the cup across.
Amelia read it and let out a bright, unbothered laugh,“I appreciate the honesty.”
“It’s free with purchase,” Tabitha said, priming the shot. “No returns.”
“Strict policy,” Amelia said, leaning on the counter. “But, the ambiance might convince me to keep coming back.”
Tabitha tamped the grounds harder than necessary. “Tragic.”
She poured the milk. It swirled, settled, and – betraying the barista completely – formed a perfect heart.
Tabitha slid it across, looking like she wanted to apologize for vandalism.
Amelia didn’t make a big deal of it. She just took a quiet breath. “Thank you. Do you mind if I sit here? I’ve got some time before I have to go anywhere.”
“Vet tragedies waiting for you?” Tabitha asked.
“Mostly comedy,” Amelia said, taking the stool at the far corner, Chase’s usual spot.
She leaned her forearms on the wood, trying to relax. But her fingers wouldn’t stop moving. Tap-tap-thump-tap-tap-thump. It wasn’t a nervous fidget; it was a rhythm. Complex. Fast. The drum intro to a song that had been looping in her head since the bathrooms over at VIM.
Winona drifted by, depositing a steaming pot in front of Amelia. “Opera Tune Tea,” she said warmly. “For when the world needs to be in tune.”
Amelia stopped tapping, smiling up at her. “Thanks.”
Winona floated away. Amelia sipped her tea, but the rhythm came back. Her fingers ghosted the beat on the ceramic mug.
“Twenty One Pilots?” Tabitha asked suddenly.
Amelia froze, hand hovering over her cup. She looked up, caught. Then she grinned—a conspiratorial flash. “Caught me. It’s the drums in ‘Overcompensate.’ It’s stuck in my head on a loop.”
Tabitha raised an eyebrow, re-evaluating her. “I didn’t peg Vet Barbie for the Skeleton Clique.”
“Please,” Amelia laughed. “I practically lived in their albums through college. The anxiety? The screaming? It was cheaper than therapy.” She sighed, tracing the rim of her mug. “I always promised myself I’d see them live. Be in the pit. Scream the lyrics until my voice gave out.”
“So go,” Tabitha said, wiping the steam wand. “They tour.”
“Yeah, but…” Amelia slumped slightly, gesturing to her sensible sweater. “I feel like those days are behind me. I have rent now, houseplants and fish. Hell, I get excited when the price of hummus goes down.”
Amelia made a face at her reflection in the tea. “I think my mosh pit license expired when I bought a rice cooker. Now it’s just… adulting. If I went now, I’d probably be the lady standing in the back worrying about the fire exits.”
Tabitha let out a sound that was half-chuckle, half-snort. “You make mid-twenties sound like your mid-forties. It’s a concert, not a war zone. You don’t need a license.”
Amelia looked at her, eyes brightening. “You like them too, don’t you?”
“They’re… tolerable,” Tabitha deflected, though she looked like she was fighting a smile. “They understand that the world is mostly stress and noise.”
“Exactly,” Amelia said. She leaned forward, dropping her voice like they were plotting a heist. “Okay. Deal. If they ever come near Orangeside, or hell the north east in general, we go.”
Tabitha blinked. “We?”
“Yes. We,” Amelia insisted. “You can protect me from the mosh pit, and I’ll buy the overpriced t-shirts. Tentative plan?”
Tabitha looked at Amelia. Smart, put-together, currently unbuttoned Amelia. “IF they come,” Tabitha said, fighting a smile. “Tentative plan. But I’m not holding your purse.”
“Deal.” Amelia beamed.
Tabitha turned away to rinse a pitcher, and Amelia felt a warm flush of victory. She had made a friend. A real one. Not a colleague, not a networking contact. Just a person who liked loud drums.
The bell clanged, harsh and sudden.
A kid, maybe fourteen, stumbled in.
Scuffed sneakers, hair that looked like it had lost a fight with a wind turbine. He wore a jacket two sizes too big and looked around the café and was casing it for exits.
He marched up to the counter, slap-happy energy radiating off him. “One hot chocolate,” he announced. “Extra whip. And don’t skimp, I got funds.”
He slapped a crisp twenty-dollar bill onto the counter.
Tabitha raised an eyebrow. “Big spender. Won some game tournament?”
“Better,” the kid said, grinning. “I got relocated.” He leaned in, bursting to tell someone. “You know the Harrison Home? That old brick orphanage on Elm?”
“Sure,” Tabitha said. “Creepy place. Bad plumbing.”
“Not anymore!” the kid crowed. “Sold! To El Viento Securities.”
Amelia froze, her tea cup halfway to her mouth. El Viento.
“They bought it?” Amelia asked. “What for?”
“Harrison… Academy for… Brilliance? Something like that. They keep changing the flyers.” he continued “Gonna be a fancy school for geniuses or something. But the best part? They moved us out while they’re fixin’ it up.”
You ‘got relocated’ by who?” Tabitha asked, narrowing her eyes. “To where? The street?”
“Nah, Orangeside Square Mall!” then looked around in his own head, “Uh… the wind people. El Viento.” The kid looked like he’d won the lottery. “They set up these temp-homes in the old department store wings. It’s awesome. Video games, food court access, no creepy ghosts.” He took a breath. “It’s not THAT bad. Honestly, it’s sweet. Calder’s set for life,” the kid said, slurping hot chocolate. “New shoes. Private tutor. Doesn’t sleep at the mall anymore.” He grinned. “Guess Ernesto Viento liked his ‘spark.”
Amelia’s face lit up wanting it to be good news so badly, a life raft. She turned to Tabitha, eyes shining.
“That sounds… unusually generous,” Amelia said – then hated herself for how suspicious it made her sound.
Relief flooded in, Chase may be right. El Viento isn’t all bad. They’re helping orphans. Upgrading them. Maybe the VIM contract…is part of the same initiative.
Tabitha looked at the kid. He seemed happy with his money and whipped cream.
“Calder,” Amelia murmured, tilting her head. “That name rings a bell. “Calder…” Amelia murmured. “I feel like Chase mentioned that name once.” She paused, thinking. Then she shook her head, smiling. “Probably just a coincidence. We might have been talking about ‘Caldors’.”
“Uncommon name, uncommon luck,” the kid said, grabbing his hot chocolate. “Calder’s set for life. And so are we, long as we stay in the program.”
Tabitha leaned back and wasn’t entirely convinced. “What do they call the program?”
He saluted them with the cup. “Uh… Sparks of Brilliance. Or, like, ‘Spark to the Future.’ Whatever it is, I know my future is secured!”
He bounced out the door, the bell jingling cheerfully behind him.
Amelia watched him go, feeling lighter than she had in days. The ants on the napkin felt far away now. Only Winona’s quiet look gives her any hint of disillusion.
“See, Chele?” Amelia said. “Vincenzo and his company… maybe they really are trying to do good. ‘Secure Your Future.’ That kid certainly looks secured.”
Tabitha looked at the empty space where the kid had been.
“Maybe,” Tabitha said, her voice tight.
Amelia finished her tea, stood up, and gathered her things. “I should go. People waiting.” She paused, looking at Tabitha. “Hey. If you ever want to show me… the notebook. The real parts. I promise not to tell anyone, even if I find your soul in there.”
Tabitha looked down, a flush rising up her neck. “It’s black…I’ll… think about it.”
“Okay,” Amelia said. “Okay.”
She stepped out into the gray mist, the bell giving a soft, undecided note behind her. The rhythm of the drums was back in her head, but this time, it sounded less like anxiety and more like a heartbeat.
Things were going to be okay. Chase was right. They could handle this.
The apartment was quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the low murmur of the television Chase had left on for background noise.
He placed the contract on the coffee table. It was done. Their digital signatures were already processed. The signing bonus was pending deposit.
The door opened. Amelia walked in, looking less frantic than she had at the office, but tired. The “unbuttoned” energy from the café had settled into a weary resolve.
“It’s done,” Chase said, nodding to the papers. “Movers come on Tuesday. First check clears Friday.”
Amelia sat on the couch, pulling her legs up. She stared at the document like it was a grenade with the pin pulled.
“We’re really doing this,” she whispered.
“We are,” Chase said, sitting beside her. “We’re going to be SilverTongue and ABeeWin. We’re going to pay our bills. And we’re going to survive the season.”
He reached out, taking her hand. She squeezed back, but her eyes drifted to the TV.
The news segment faded, replaced by a sleek, high-production commercial. Soft piano music played over images of a serene, temperate forest.
“Justice isn’t about endings,” a voiceover said—smooth, reassuring. “It’s about continuity.”
The screen shifted to a rendering of a black cube sitting quietly in a backyard, surrounded by a tasteful garden. Then, a cut to a vast wilderness, where a lone figure walked near a massive, unmoving anchor.
“The El Viento Personal Prison System,” the voice continued. “Utilizing Xeno-Tungstanium Carbon technology to create a humane, permanent alternative to the ultimate sanction.”
Amelia frowned. “Why are they running commercials for this? It’s a prison system. You can’t buy one at Walmart.”
“It’s not a sales pitch,” Chase said, his instincts kicking in. “It’s conditioning. They want the public to get used to the shape of it. They want us to look at a violent criminal tethered to a 3 ton weight and see ‘safety’ instead of a cage.”
On screen, text flashed: PROTOCOL ALPHA: REDEMPTION. PROTOCOL BETA: SURVIVAL.
“We’re solving the problem of the irredeemable,” the ad promised. “Ethically.”
“See?” Chase pointed. “They start with the people nobody wants to defend. The ones who used to get shocked or the needle.”
He hesitated, choosing his words.
“They say, ‘Look, we found a humane way to remove the worst of it.’ And once that feels normal…”
He trailed off, the thought unfinished.
Amelia watched the digital rendering of the inmate tethered to the anchor. The chain was silver-colored XTC, shimmering in the fake sunlight.
“It’s kinda like VIM,” she murmured. “It’s the same pitch. Not punishment… Just management.”
Chase looked at her, startled. “What?”
“The contract,” she said, gesturing to the coffee table. “The sponsorship. The ‘Protocol Alpha’ luxury cell. It’s all just terms and conditions, Chase. They find a way to keep you. To make you generate value, or at least stop you from causing trouble, without ever letting you go.”
Chase felt a defensive bristle rise in his chest. “A contract isn’t a chain, Amelia. We can terminate. We can walk.”
Amelia gave him a look that was curious and steady. “Can We?”
“Ames.” Chase retorted, “We’re making content, not committing crimes. Nobody lost their life because of VIM.”
Amelia turned to him. Her eyes were wide, reflecting the blue light of the El Viento logo spinning on the screen.
“Yet,” she said, a joke she didn’t believe.
Chase wanted to argue, to use his silver tongue to spin the logic back to safety. But the word hung in the air between them, heavier than the contract, heavier than the three-ton weight on the screen.
He looked back at the TV. The commercial ended with the El Viento tagline:
SECURE YOUR FUTURE.
Chase reached for the remote and turned it off. The screen went black, but the reflection of the two of them, sitting side by side in the dark, remained.
Amelia realized she was still tapping the rhythm on her knee.
Chase noticed… And didn’t tell her to stop.