Chapter 33: The Drift's Shadow
Kael stood in the alley outside The Drift, the venue's neon sign casting a green glow across the wet pavement. The city's evening air was sharp, laced with the scent of rain and motor oil, the distant thrum of a bassline seeping through the club's walls. His guitar hung from the leather strap, its stars glinting faintly, a tether to his mom's pride. The gig was nine days away, Shatterpoint at fourteen thousand listens, Flicker nearing five thousand, and their Hollow video pushing thirty-five thousand views. But today's meeting with the promoter, arranged by Lex, felt like a storm brewing, threatening the raw sound Kael and Mira had fought to protect.
Mira leaned against the wall beside him, her borrowed guitar slung across her back, her scarf tucked into her jacket. Her eyes were sharp but tired, the weight of her parents' college push and Lex's persistent "strategy" wearing her thin. "Think this guy's gonna be another label in disguise?" she asked, her voice low, half-joking but laced with worry.
Kael shrugged, his stomach tight. "Hope not. Lex says he's indie, but…" He trailed off, thinking of Lex's meeting, their uneasy truce to stream The Drift themselves, no strings. Veyl's Broken Signal echoed in his mind—"Hold the truth, make it last"—a reminder of why Echo Back mattered. Juno's text from this morning was blunt: "Promoters talk big. Watch his hands, not his mouth."
The club door swung open, and Lex stepped out, followed by a wiry man in a flannel shirt—Rico, The Drift's promoter. His smile was wide, his handshake firm, but his eyes were calculating, scanning Kael and Mira like merchandise. "You're the SoundSphere kids," Rico said, his voice smooth. "Hollow vid's fire. Crowd's gonna eat you up."
"Thanks," Kael said, his tone cautious. "We're keeping it raw—Shatterpoint, Flicker, Fireflies, Echo Back, Dust Road. Just guitars, vocals."
Rico nodded, but his smile tightened. "Love the vibe, but raw's tricky live. Crowd expects polish—lights, backing tracks, energy. I can hook you up with a sound guy, tighten the set. Lex says you're open to tweaks." He glanced at Lex, who shifted, avoiding Kael's gaze.
Mira's jaw clenched, her voice sharp. "Lex misspoke. We're raw. That's what got us here. The Hollow crowd loved it." Her hand brushed Kael's, a silent we're together.
Kael's chest burned, Lex's overreach a betrayal, however small. "No backing tracks," he said, his voice firm. "No polish. Our sound's enough." He thought of his dad's Blue Shift tape, Juno's Iron Vein, Veyl's rebellion—raw voices that carried truth.
Rico raised his hands, placating. "Fair, fair. Just want the show to pop. You're headlining, big deal for a first gig. I'll need a setlist by tomorrow, and you're doing a soundcheck day-of. Deal?" He handed Kael a card, his smile back, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Deal," Kael said, taking the card, his gut uneasy. Rico headed inside, Lex lingering, his expression a mix of guilt and defiance.
"I was trying to help," Lex said, his voice low. "Raw's your strength, but The Drift's a step up. You need to land it, or the buzz fades."
Kael's jaw tightened. "You went behind us, Lex. We said no tweaks. You want to help? Share the stream, book venues, but don't rewrite us." His voice was steady, but the sting of distrust cut deep.
Mira nodded, her eyes hard. "We trusted you, Lex. Don't make us regret it."
Lex exhaled, rubbing his neck. "Alright. My mistake. I'll stick to your terms." He paused, then added, "You're good kids. Don't let the world chew you up." He walked back inside, his shoulders slumped, a crack in his usual control.
Alone in the alley, Kael exhaled, the tension lingering. "That was too close," he said, meeting Mira's gaze. "You okay?"
"Barely," she admitted, her voice softening. "Rico, Lex, my parents—it's like they're all pulling strings. I just want to sing, Kael." Her scarf slipped, her eyes glistening, and Kael saw the fault line in her—fear of losing her spark.
He stepped closer, his voice low. "You will. Fireflies is you, Mira. We're headlining The Drift, our way. No one's taking that." His hand grazed hers, the spark between them steady, a rhythm they hadn't named but both felt.
Mira's smile broke through, small but fierce. "Together," she said, her fingers curling around his, a quiet vow.
The city hummed—neon flickering, a busker's harmonica weaving through the rain. Kael's phone buzzed—a SoundSphere comment on Shatterpoint: "Your truth's our signal. Burn bright." Anonymous, maybe Veyl, maybe the city. He showed Mira, who grinned, her scarf catching the breeze.
"That's us," she said, her voice a vow. "Let's make it roar."
Kael tucked his dad's tape deeper, its ghost a steady ally. The Drift's shadow loomed, Lex's strings closer, but Echo Back was their signal, raw and unbroken, ready to light the stage.
To be continued…