Chapter 5

The morning’s news feeds hit like a thunderclap.

Zora scrolled through the headlines on her holo, her expression tightening with every flick of her finger. Rumors swirl around Zora’s Aurora and Antonov investigation. Anonymous source claims PI link inside band. Questionable ties to Dmitri Bondalenko surface.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered. “They’re practically writing fanfic at this point.”

Across the hotel suite, Sophie stood stiffly by the window, arms folded. “It’s not fanfic when people start believing it. This paints us as compromised.”

Delta stormed in, com unit in hand, hair slightly disheveled—rare for her. She set the device down on the table with a decisive thud. “Okay. Nobody panic. I’ve already contacted a few outlets demanding retractions, but the story’s spreading faster than I can stomp it down.”

Brax, lounging on the couch with a mug of synth-coffee, lifted a brow. “Should we be flattered they think we’re spies?”

Delta shot him a glare sharp enough to pierce armor. “No. You should be worried that your band might lose bookings over this. The promoters are already nervous.”

Brian leaned forward, frowning. “But it doesn’t even name us. Just ... hints.”

“Hints are enough,” Delta snapped, before forcing herself to take a breath. Her tone softened, but only slightly. “Somebody saw us talking to Natalia after that first show. Combine that with the timing of this little tour, and suddenly you’re part of a conspiracy web.”

Sophie’s jaw clenched. “And Dmitri—again. They have him hung out to dry. The stories about him are outright lies.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Delta said, pacing now. “The press doesn’t care about truth. They care about clicks. And right now, you’re shiny bait.”

Zora raised her hands in mock surrender. “So, what’s the play, boss? Do we get out in front of it? Hold a press conference? Deny, deny, deny?”

Delta stopped pacing, staring them down with a rare flash of raw intensity. “The play is focus. We give the press nothing. No slips, no quips, no fuel. You’re musicians, not investigators—at least not publicly. Leave the cleanup to me.”

The room went quiet, save for the faint buzz of the holo feeds still rolling out headlines. For the first time, Zora saw cracks in Delta’s armor—frazzled, yes, but still holding the line with sheer force of will.

Sophie finally spoke, voice steady but edged with steel. “This isn’t just about PR anymore. Whoever leaked this ... they want us boxed in. Distracted. We can’t let them win.”

Zora’s grin was humorless this time. “Then we play it their way on stage, and our way off it.”

Delta exhaled, rubbing her temples. “Fine. But until I can put this fire out, the both of you had better tread very carefully. The band can’t afford a scandal. And neither can you.”

The rehearsal room hummed with the afterglow of actual progress for once. Without Jennix fluttering at the edges, the band had dug in—tight grooves, sharp timing, even a little fire that had been missing for days. Delta, though still distracted by the storm outside, nodded in approval as she packed her notes.

But when the amps powered down and the chatter died, Sophie drifted toward the far corner, her guitar slung at her side like an afterthought. She stared out the narrow window, watching streaks of aircars rise against Anastasia’s twilight skyline. The echo of media headlines still clung to her mind, sharp as static.

The road crew was on hand to assist with clean-up. Nigel lingered as the others joked their way toward the door, folding cables into neat coils. He glanced at Sophie—her shoulders taut, her expression unreadable—and after a moment’s hesitation, he crossed the room.

“Tough week,” he said gently, setting the coiled cord on the case beside him. “I know it’s not my place, but ... don’t let those vultures get under your skin. People who know you—really know you—aren’t buying any of it.”

Sophie blinked, almost startled out of her reverie. She studied him, weighing his tone, then let out a breath that carried the faintest trace of weariness. “Appreciate that, Nigel. Really.”

Her reply was quiet, but it was genuine. For the first time that day, some of the tightness in her posture eased.

Nigel gave a respectful nod, then returned to his work, leaving Sophie with her thoughts—and the smallest reminder that not everyone around her was looking to take something away.

When rehearsal wrapped, the guys scattered in their usual rush, still riding the buzz of their own inside jokes. Delta caught Finn first, then Brax, then Brian—each attempt framed in her calm but deliberate tone.

“Look, I’m not out to give anyone grief. But this thing with Jennix? It’s bleeding into the music. What’s happening when you’re with her?”

Their answers came in shrugs, in thin smiles, in words that carried no weight.

“She’s cool.”

“She makes stuff fun.”

“Not really sure—it just feels right, y’know?”

And then they were gone, leaving only the soft thud of the door closing behind them.

Delta exhaled, long and tired, and found Sophie and Zora waiting in the hallway. Sophie caught the look on her face before she said a word.

“No luck,” Delta admitted. “Same answers. Same vagueness. Like I’m not even speaking the same language.”