The morning after the pilot stream felt less like waking up and more like coming down from a sugar high.
Amelia was in the kitchen, making coffee with her own machine (Chase’s truly was tragic), while Chase scrolled through analytics on his tablet at the island.
“Vincenzo just texted,” Chase said, not looking up. “He says the test audience metrics are ‘beyond projections.’ Apparently, people really liked the rant about the battle pass.”
“And my bee theme thing?” Amelia asked, wincing as she poured milk.
“He says ‘ABeeWin’ is trending internally. They want you to wear over-sized glasses next time.”
Amelia groaned, leaning her forehead against the cabinet. “I am a grown woman with a degree. I am not a dress-up doll in a box.”
“You are now,” Chase said, his voice gentle.
He walked over and kissed the top of her head. “Think of it as a costume. Like AnimeVerse. Just… don’t throw a drink at me.”
“As long as there’s no Street FIghter cosplayers around,” she mumbled into his shirt.
Chase’s phone buzzed again. He checked it, then frowned.
“Speaker,” he said. Tapping the screen and setting the phone on the counter.
“Good morning, influencers!” Vincenzo’s voice filled the kitchen, rich and overly caffeinated. “I hope you’re rested. Because the data? The data is singing.”
“Singing is good,” Chase said cautiously.
“It’s better than good. It’s a symphony. Look, I know we have a schedule, but I wanted to drop a little signing bonus on you. A token of appreciation.”
“We already got the bonus,” Chase said.
“Not money. Experience.” A rustle of paper on the other end could be heard. “I have two tickets. Front row. VIP. For the Twenty One Pilots show in Philly coming up.”
Amelia froze. She spun around, nearly dropping her spoon.
“My people scraped your old social profiles,” Vincenzo continued, oblivious to the privacy violation. “Saw you were a fan, Amelia. Figured you two could use a night out.”
“That’s… not a gift, Vincenzo. That’s an invasion of privacy with a secret prize.” Chase said, with mild suspicion.
Amelia’s smile arrived before her suspicion did.
She looked at Chase. Her eyes were wide, shining with a mix of excitement and disbelief. She had literally just bonded with Tabitha over this band. It felt like kismet. Or surveillance. Or both.
“That’s… incredibly generous,” Chase said, though Amelia could see him mentally calculating the cost of “free” tickets from a man like Vincenzo. “But it’s not really my scene. Whining gives me a headache.”
“I’ll go!” Amelia piped up, realizing too late she sounded eager. “I mean… thank you. That’s amazing.”
“Perfect,” Vincenzo said. “Enjoy the show. Oh, and Chase? Grey has some thoughts on the rollout strategy. I’m putting him on.”
There was a click, and then Grey’s voice – smooth, dry, and oddly familiar – came through.
Grey said. “The independent streams are good for building individual bases. But the audience craves the crossover. Something to seed a ‘Will They/Won’t They’ dynamic in their minds, we need a crucible.”
Chase blinked. “Did you just threaten our relationship with metallurgy?”
“Metaphorically,” Grey corrected. “We need an event. High stress. High engagement. I’m proposing a location shoot in the next few weeks. Something we could use for a Halloween special.”
Amelia felt a prickle of unease. “What kind of location?”
“Dudleytown,” Grey said.
Amelia laughed once. A sharp, involuntary sound. “Okay. You got me. Great prank.”
“No prank,” Vincenzo said cheerfully.
Amelia stopped laughing.
She froze. The name hit her with dread. “Dudleytown? The ‘Village of the Damned’? We can’t go there. It’s strictly private property. The Dark Entry Forest Association arrests hikers on sight. It’s… it’s cursed.”
“It’s private El Viento property,” Vincenzo cut in, his voice booming casually about ownership. “El Viento Securities acquired the land trust years ago under a pseudonym. We held the deed quietly. No local police will bother you,” Vincenzo said. “We handle the jurisdictional relationship.”
“But the legends,” Amelia stammered, looking at Chase. “People go insane there. The ‘Dark Entry’… Chase, they say it’s actually haunted.”
“Rumors are unoptimized data,” Grey interrupted, his tone dismissive and clinical. “There are no ghosts in Dudleytown, Amelia. Just trees and rocks.”
He paused, and Amelia could practically hear him smiling on the other end.
“However,” Grey continued, “the metrics love a ghost story.”
“So, we’re enhancing the experience,” Grey said. “Audio cues. Environmental effects. Controlled stimuli. You supply the reactions. Fear bonds the audience to the creator.”
Amelia’s breath hitched. They were turning a legendary cursed forest into a theme park attraction for views.
“You really believe its… safe?” Amelia asked, her voice small.
“Always, it’s an El Viento property,” Vincenzo said. “It’s the safest forest in the north east. If there are souls, we own them. We control the environment now. What do you say?”
“It’s just a location shoot,” Chase said, more to himself than to her. “A controlled environment. In and out.”
Amelia nodded, though the excitement about the concert was now tempered by a cold draft. The idea of fake ghosts in a place famous for real madness felt like a bad punchline.
“We’re in,” Chase said.
“Excellent. I’ll get the ball rollin on this. Secure your future, kids.”
The line went dead.
They drove to the café in silence for the first few blocks, the weight of the “Haunted Forest” hanging between them.
“We should tell Tabitha,” Amelia said suddenly.
“Tell her what? That we’re ghost hunting for clicks?”
“About the tickets,” Amelia said, brightening. “Chase, you hate that music. Clearly. And Tabitha… she loves them. We bonded over it. I should take her.”
Chase glanced at her. “You want to take the prickly barista to a VIP concert courtesy of our corporate overlord?”
“Yes! It’s perfect. It’s a peace offering. And… I think she needs a friend. A real one.”
Chase smiled. “You’re adopting her. Like some kinda stray cat.”
“She’s not a stray. She’s just… guarded.”
“Fine. But not right now. We keep the VIM stuff close to the vest,” Chase warned. “Until we’re 100% comfortable. Snakes is already in her head about ‘sugar traps.’ If we tell her we’re exploring a creepy El Viento forest, she might actually have a stroke.”
“Agreed,” Amelia said. “Feel it out for now. Concert talk next time”
They pulled up to Summers Brew.
As they got out, the rain started to mist again, bringing back memories from a college day with similar weather.
“Hey, remember that model U.N.?” Chase asked.
“Don’t tell me you have to fart,” Amelia laughed, adjusting her cardigan.
They walked in laughing, born of the absurdity of their morning.
“…and then Hunt looked at us like we’d personally declared war on Switzerland,” Chase was saying, shaking his umbrella.
Amelia covered her face, groaning-laughing. “Please don’t remind me. I wanted to sink through the floor.”
Tabitha was behind the counter, looking like she’d been waiting for them to ruin her solitude. She scribbled on a cup before they even reached the wood.
BRIEFCASE & LUNCHBOX.
“Morning, Tabs,” Chase said, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Still trying to become the ‘fortune cookie’ of morning refreshments?”
“Use any markers recently to sign important paperwork?” she countered, eyeing his briefcase.
Amelia smiled warmly. “Registrar, right? You know, it does really fit you.”
Tabitha raised an eyebrow. “Finally, Chase’s not alone.”
Maybe it was the relief of the contract signed, or maybe it was just the caffeine kicking in. They talked about college – the Model UN incident (Amelia defended her “crying like a school girl, but not in a ‘hot way’, as Chase put it” valiantly) – and Chase even admitted, with surprising vulnerability, that his teasing back then was a defense mechanism.
Amelia watched Tabitha’s face soften. The girl was listening so intently, like she was cataloging every word for a file.
“You have to let us check out your little… case files?” Chase teased.
“Absolutely not,” Tabitha gasped, nearly choking.
“They’re not just case files,” Amelia interjected, turning to Chase. “She’s good, Chase. She notices things. She captures people.”
Tabitha looked like she wanted to phase through the floor.
“It’s not just lists, Tabs,” Amelia said firmly. “It’s insight.”
For a second, the armor cracked. Tabitha looked down, scribbling something under the counter, looking flustered and pleased and terrified all at once.
Then the door swung open.
Snakes shuffled in. No chime. Just the squeak of the mop cart and the smell of bleach.
“Wright,” Snakes said, dragging his cart like a weapon. He pulled out a large zip-lock bag of mixed candies – M&Ms, Skittles, Reese’s Pieces, chaos in a bag. “Want some special mix?”
Chase groaned. “Not today, man. Seriously.”
Snakes ignored him. He reached into his pocket and slapped a matchbook onto the counter.
El Viento SECURITIES.
The cover was scratched until the letters bled paper fuzz.
Amelia reached for it. “What’s this supposed to–”
“School days are over,” Snakes cut her off, his voice low.
Amelia froze.
“Gas can change the way the world looks,” Snakes said, looking at the matchbook, then at Chase. “Don’t burn yourself up lighting a match to see the way. One match can turn a room into a story.”
Chase opened his mouth to argue.
Snakes pointed a finger at him without looking. “And you—don’t mistake a spark for a promise. Just because it glitters like gold, doesn’t mean it is. A city spray-painted gold is just a lie.”
He shuffled away, the mop squeaking a dissonant rhythm. At the door, he added: “Registrar knows where to file it. Cabins catch fire.”
The silence that followed rearranged the air in the room.
“That was… ominous,” Amelia whispered, staring at the matchbook.
“Snakes thinks everything is ominous,” Chase dismissed, rubbing his temples. “Yesterday he warned me about the TV in the lobby listening.”
Amelia shivered. They literally are, she thought, remembering the cameras in the VIM studio. And the fact that ‘Smart TVs’ exist.
She shook it off.
When the rush thinned, Amelia lingered at the counter.
“So,” Amelia said, leaning in. “If you liked Twenty One Pilots, I need to ask… How do you feel about Muse?”
Tabitha didn’t look up. “They’re fine.”
“Fine? Tabs, they’re space opera with guitars. That’s religion.”
They went back and forth – Gorillaz, Of Monsters and Men – bonding over the shared language of playlists.
Finally, Amelia played her card.
“You won’t believe it,” Amelia said, pulling out her phone. “The algorithm heard us. East Coast tour dates just dropped for Twenty One Pilots.”
Tabitha’s eyes widened. “Oh.”
“And,” Amelia leaned in closer, dropping her voice, excitement bubbling up. “I actually have an extra—”
She stopped.
From the stool beside her, Chase cleared his throat. Once.
Amelia didn’t notice.
He cleared it again. Sharper.
She froze mid-sentence.
They locked eyes.
Years of shared subtext passed between them in under a second.
She remembered his warning in the car: Keep the VIM stuff close to the vest. Offering VIP tickets from a corporate overlord might be moving too fast. It might look like a bribe. Or worse, it might scare the girl off entirely.
“I have an extra… feeling,” Amelia pivoted, her voice pitching up slightly. “That they’re going to sell out fast. Like, instantly.”
Tabitha blinked, clearly sensing the sentence had been hijacked mid-flight. “Right. Scalpers are brutal.”
“Exactly,” Amelia nodded too quickly, hating when sentences betrayed her like that. “So we should… you know. Keep an eye on it.”
Chase relaxed his shoulders, taking a sip of his coffee. Crisis averted.
Amelia cleared her throat, recovering her momentum. “But seriously. We should plan it. Or even just hang out before then. Listen to music. Compare playlists. Judge each other’s choices.”
Tabitha raised an eyebrow. “Judge?”
“Lovingly,” Amelia said. “Mostly.”
Tabitha tried not to smile. Failed.
Then Amelia held out her phone. “Trade numbers? So we can coordinate. In case… you know, tickets become available.”
Tabitha’s lungs staged a coup. “Oh. Uh. Sure.”
She slid her phone across the counter, trying not to visibly flinch when Amelia’s fingers brushed hers. Amelia typed quickly, handed it back with a smile so bright it felt like an indictment.
“There,” Amelia said. “Now you can’t pretend we don’t exist between shifts.”
Chase made a wounded noise. “She pretends I don’t exist all the time.”
“That’s because you’re annoying,” Tabitha said, tucking her phone away.
Amelia laughed – soft, pleased, warm. “Okay. We should go. But text me. Seriously.”
Tabitha nodded once, businesslike. “We’ll see.”
Amelia stepped out into the gray drizzle, huddled under Chase’s umbrella. As they turned the corner toward the parking lot, she let out a long breath.
“Why did you stop me?” Amelia asked. “I was going to give her the ticket.”
“Too soon,” Chase said, unlocking the car. “Remember, we can’t just drop a VIP El Viento package on her lap day one. She’s suspicious by nature, Ames. She’d think we were trying to buy her off or recruit her.”
“I just wanted to do something nice,” Amelia sighed, sliding into the passenger seat. “She reminds me of Christina. Back in the Orangeside days. The combat boots. The defiant eyeliner. The way she uses sarcasm as a load-bearing wall.”
Chase chuckled, starting the engine. “She just needs a megaphone and a protest sign, and the transformation is complete.”
“I think she looks at us differently,” Amelia said, watching the wipers swish back and forth. “Not just as customers. I think she really wants friends.”
Chase looked out the windshield, thoughtful. “I saw that,” he admitted. “Way back when I first started coming in. Honestly? When we first met, I thought she had the hots for me.”
Amelia snorted. “You think everyone has the hots for you.”
“I’m serious,” Chase said, merging into traffic. “She had that look. The one where they insult you because they don’t know how to talk to you. But I made sure to keep a respectable distance. I see her as a little sister. A terrifying, goth flavored, judgmental little sister.”
Amelia smirked, teasing him. “Careful, Wright. I was nineteen once. And I seem to recall I had a pretty massive crush on you, too.”
Chase glanced at her. “That was different.”
“How? We were in college. She’s college-aged.”
“Because,” Chase said, tapping the steering wheel. “You and I… the math was different. Even then. But with Tabitha? She’s nineteen. I’m in my thirties. That felt… distinct.”
Amelia leaned back in the seat, watching the city blur by. It was funny how time compressed things. When she was a nineteen-year-old freshman and Chase was the twenty-seven-year-old “mature student,” the eight-year gap had felt like a canyon. He was a grown man with perfect hair; she was a kid with a meal plan.
But now? She was in her mid-twenties, settling into a new career. He was in his thirties, less schemes and more building dreams. The gap hadn’t changed, but the bridge had been built.
They were just…evolved.
“It is different,” Amelia agreed softly. “We’re now both just boring, responsible adults. We buy the coffee. We don’t complicate anything.”
She felt a wave of relief wash over her. Chase had boundaries. He saw Tabitha as a kid, as a friend, maybe even a protégé, but nothing else. It meant Amelia could be friends with her, too, without looking over her shoulder. She could adopt the stray cat without worrying about the ecosystem.
“Exactly,” Chase said. “No SilverTongue scandals allowed.”They drove off into the rain, feeling safe in their bubble, unaware that back in the café, Tabitha didn’t see “boring adults.” She saw the only story in town that was worth her time.