Chapter 35: Neon and Nerve
Kael stood backstage at The Drift, the club's pulse thrumming through the floor, a mix of bass from the opening act and the crowd's restless hum. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and cheap cologne, the neon glow of the stage lights bleeding through the curtain. His guitar hung from the leather strap, its stars catching flickers of green and pink, a quiet tether to his mom's pride. The gig was tonight—headlining, their biggest stage yet—with Shatterpoint at sixteen thousand listens, Flicker nearing six thousand, and their Hollow video at forty-five thousand views. But Rico's push for polish and Lex's strained truce loomed, making every chord feel like a stand.
Mira paced beside him, her borrowed guitar slung low, her scarf tucked into her jacket. Her eyes were bright with adrenaline, but shadows lingered—her parents' latest college brochure, Lex's subtle pressure, her own fear of faltering. "Crowd's huge," she muttered, peeking through the curtain at the packed room. "Think they'll get us, or expect… more?" Her voice wavered, the tightrope of her sketchpad alive in her tone.
Kael's stomach knotted, but he met her gaze, his voice steady. "They'll get us. Shatterpoint, Flicker, Fireflies, Echo Back, Dust Road—it's raw, it's us. That's enough." He thought of Veyl's Broken Signal, its dare to hold truth, and Juno's text from this morning: "Own it, rookies. No one else can." His dad's Blue Shift tape, tucked in his pocket, was a quiet ally, its chords a reminder of what he'd chosen not to lose.
Mira nodded, her grin shaky but fierce. "Yeah. No polish, no strings." She adjusted her guitar, her fingers trembling, and Kael saw the fault line in her—doubt battling defiance. He wanted to reach for her, to steady the spark between them, but the stage manager—a burly guy with a headset—waved them forward.
"Five minutes," he barked. "Setlist's locked, soundcheck's solid. Don't choke."
Mira laughed, the sound brittle but real. "No choking," she said, nudging Kael. "Right?"
"Right," Kael said, squeezing her shoulder, the touch a vow. The spark flared, friendship and something more, a rhythm they'd carry onto the stage.
Lex was in the wings, his notebook closed, his eyes softer than usual. "You've got this," he said, his voice low. "I pushed too hard, I know. Just… make it yours tonight." It was the closest to an apology Kael had heard, and though the sting of distrust lingered, he nodded, grateful for the space.
The opening act finished, the crowd's cheers shaking the walls. Kael's phone buzzed—a text from his mom: "I'm here. Sing your heart out." His chest warmed, picturing her in the crowd, her scrubs swapped for a rare night out. Another buzz, a SoundSphere comment on Shatterpoint: "Drift's gonna burn tonight. You're our signal." Anonymous, maybe Veyl, maybe the city. It fueled him.
The stage manager signaled, and Kael and Mira stepped into the neon glow, the crowd a sea of faces under flickering lights. Phones were up, filming, but Kael saw eyes—hungry, hopeful, waiting. His pulse raced, but the guitar was steady, its weight grounding him. Mira stood close, her grin defiant, her fear buried under fire.
Kael leaned into the mic, its metal cool. "We're Kael and Mira. This is Shatterpoint." He strummed, the chord raw and sharp, painting crimson and violet in his mind. His voice followed, rough but alive:
"I'm running blind, I'm breaking glass / Tearing through what doesn't last…"
Mira's harmony wove in, fierce and clear, their sounds tangling like city threads. The crowd swayed, some closing their eyes, others nodding to the rhythm. Kael leaned into the flaws—his voice cracking, the strings buzzing—letting them breathe. The neon pulsed, the stage alive in his mind—fireflies, indigo shadows, a city waking.
They flowed into Flicker, Mira's melody a quiet fire, her vocals aching, defying her parents' leash. Kael's chords were soft, a heartbeat beneath her voice. The crowd was rapt, a few filming, others swaying, caught in her truth. Kael saw his mom near the front, her smile tear-streaked, and Mira's parents in the back, their faces unreadable but still.
Fireflies came next, Mira leading, her voice soft but unyielding:
"Fireflies in the dark, we're chasing light / Holding on through the weight of night…"
Kael's harmony joined, their voices a vow against Rico's polish, Lex's strings. The crowd cheered, phones flashing like fireflies, and Kael felt the city's pulse—neon, rain, a busker's echo—in every note.
They paused, the crowd roaring, and Kael met Mira's gaze, her eyes shining. "We're not done," she whispered, her grin wide. The stage was theirs, the fault lines fading under the neon's glow, their spark burning brighter than ever.
To be continued…