Chapter 32: Strings and Signals
Kael sat at a scratched table in PulseVibe Studio's lounge, the air sharp with the tang of old vinyl and fresh ink from Lex's notebook. His guitar case leaned against his chair, the leather strap's stars catching the fluorescent glare, a quiet nod to his mom's faith. The Drift's gig was ten days away, Shatterpoint at thirteen thousand listens, Flicker pushing forty-five hundred, and their Hollow video nearing thirty thousand views. But today's meeting with Lex—his push for "strategy" after their refusal of label deals—felt like a tightrope walk, testing Kael and Mira's resolve to stay raw.
Mira sat beside him, her borrowed guitar across her lap, her scarf knotted loosely, her eyes wary but defiant. Her sketchpad was closed, but Kael knew the firefly-lit streetlamp was inside, a symbol of their fight. Lex sat across, his usual polish frayed, his pen tapping the table. Juno was absent, his text from last night blunt: "Handle Lex. Don't let him leash you." Veyl's Broken Signal echoed in Kael's mind, its lyric—"Hold the truth, make it last"—a dare to keep Echo Back free.
Lex leaned forward, his voice measured but urgent. "You're building something real—Hollow's proof. But The Drift needs exposure. I've got contacts—streamers, local blogs, even a small radio spot. We could triple your reach." He slid a printed plan across, bullet points dense with terms like "content calendar" and "brand alignment." "You stream the gig yourselves, fine, but let me amplify it. No labels, just us."
Kael's stomach twisted, Lex's words tempting but heavy with strings. He glanced at Mira, whose jaw was set, her fingers gripping her guitar. "We want exposure," Kael said, his voice steady, "but not if it means changing who we are. Shatterpoint, Flicker, Fireflies, Echo Back—they're raw. Your plan sounds like polish."
Mira nodded, her voice sharp. "We've seen what 'amplifying' does. RawVibe's artists are all filters and scripts. We're not doing that, Lex." Her eyes flicked to Kael, a silent we're in this together.
Lex exhaled, rubbing his temple. "I'm not the enemy here. I've seen talent crash—my own mistakes, years ago. A band I pushed too hard, lost to a bad deal." His voice cracked, a rare glimpse of vulnerability. "I want you to win, but the world's not kind to raw. You need a shield."
Kael's chest tightened, Lex's confession echoing Juno's scars, his dad's Blue Shift tape. "We get it," he said, softer now. "But our shield's our sound. We'll stream The Drift, post on SoundSphere, let fans spread it. You can help—share the video, connect us to venues. But no scripts, no branding."
Mira leaned forward, her tone firm but kind. "We trust you, Lex, but trust us too. We know what we're doing." Her hand brushed Kael's under the table, a spark of solidarity, friendship teetering toward more.
Lex studied them, his eyes conflicted, then nodded. "Alright. Your call. I'll push the stream, no strings. But don't underestimate the noise out there." He stood, gathering his notebook, and left, his footsteps heavy with unspoken worry.
Alone, Kael exhaled, the tension easing. "That was… intense," he said, meeting Mira's gaze. "You okay?"
She nodded, but her eyes were shadowed. "Yeah, but it's a lot. Lex, my parents, the gig… feels like everyone's pulling." She opened her sketchpad, the firefly streetlamp glowing. "Fireflies keeps me grounded, but I'm scared, Kael. What if we can't keep this up?"
Kael's heart ached, her fear mirroring his—his dad's choice, his mom's quiet warnings. He shifted closer, his voice low. "We will. The Hollow, The Sparrow, Echo Back—that's us, Mira. Not them. We're not alone in this." His hand covered hers, the touch a vow, the spark between them steady now, unnamed but real.
Mira's smile broke through, small but fierce. "Together," she said, squeezing his hand. "Let's practice Echo Back. For The Drift."
They grabbed their guitars, the lounge shrinking to their chords. Kael led, his voice rough:
"I'm a signal in the noise, burning bright / Holding truth against the night…"
Mira's harmony soared, defiant, their sounds weaving like city threads—neon, rain, a busker's riff. The song was jagged, alive, a response to Veyl, to Lex, to the world. In Kael's mind, it was silver and gold, fireflies against static.
When they finished, Mira grinned, her scarf slipping. "That's our answer," she said. "To all of it."
Kael's phone buzzed—a SoundSphere comment on Shatterpoint: "You're the signal we hear. Keep burning." Anonymous, maybe Veyl, maybe the city. He showed Mira, who sketched a new firefly, brighter, under the streetlamp.
"That's our truth," she said, her voice a vow. "Let's make it sing."
Kael tucked his dad's tape deeper, its ghost a quiet ally. The Drift was close, Lex's strings closer, but Echo Back was their signal, strong enough to cut through the noise.
To be continued…