Gabe
FORTY-EIGHT
By noon, Redemption Falls could be hosting either a music festival or the beginning of societal collapse.
Possibly both.
Black SUVs line the streets around Redemption Square.
Camera crews move between clusters of locals pretending not to stare while very obviously staring.
Security teams talk into earpieces near the perimeter while production assistants sprint around carrying clipboards and iced coffees because caffeine alone is holding civilization together.
Which, to be fair, is often true in this industry.
I stand near the temporary stage setup in the center of the square, watching everything unfold around me.
Usually, I hate unpredictability. Unmanaged attention. Public situations where too many variables exist outside my control.
But today?
Today, the drama is intentional.
Xander built the narrative shift perfectly.
The headlines started this morning.
THE LAST REBELS REUNITE UNDER REDEMPTION RECORDS.
NEW ALBUM. GLOBAL TOUR.
RETURNING TO THEIR ROOTS IN REDEMPTION FALLS.
The internet practically detonated. Exactly as planned.
It’s almost elegant in its simplicity. The public obsession shifted overnight from scandal to spectacle, from speculation about our personal lives to excitement about music again, which was always the goal.
Give people something bigger to focus on.
And nothing is bigger than a legendary band resurrecting itself from the dead. Especially not this band. Especially not here.
I glance toward the gazebo stage again where technicians finish sound checks while reporters circle nearby trying to gather information from anyone willing to talk.
Nobody important is talking.
Also intentional.
Control the release. Control the narrative. Control the impact.
Simple. Well, simple in theory.
In reality, Julian is currently trying to convince Tommy Bennett to crowd surf during the launch event while Willow laughs hard enough beside them that she nearly spills her coffee.
So, margin of error exists.
My gaze catches on her. It always does.
She’s standing near the fountain in fitted jeans and an oversized cream sweater that slips off one shoulder whenever she laughs. Her dark hair’s loose today, moving softly in the wind while sunlight catches the gold flecks in her hazel eyes.
And despite everything, she looks lighter, less afraid.
The difference is subtle. I notice the way she doesn’t tense every time someone nearby lifts a phone anymore. The way she smiles at locals instead of shrinking from the attention. The way she moves through the square. She belongs here again instead of feeling hunted.
That matters to me more than I expected. More than it should.
“Your staring is becoming professionally concerning.”
Julian appears beside me holding two coffees and approximately zero respect for personal boundaries.
“I’m assessing.”
“You’re yearning.”
“I hate that phrase.”
“Because it’s accurate.”
I take the coffee from him anyway.
Across the square, Xander finally emerges from one of the black SUVs, and the atmosphere changes.
People notice him instinctively. Cameras shift direction. Conversations lower.
Power has a frequency.
Xander’s always carried it naturally. Today, though, there’s more underneath it.
Relief.
The tension that’s lived under his skin for years whenever Dylan’s name came up is gone.
He spots Willow across the crowd. His expression softens around the edges before he walks toward us, hands shoved loosely into the pockets of his black coat.
“You ready?” I ask once he reaches us.
His gaze flicks briefly toward the stage setup. “Yeah.”
I study him carefully for another second.
Emotionally, Xander’s always been easiest to read in what he doesn’t say.
And right now, he’s calm, which means whatever happened with Dylan in New York changed more than just business.
Interesting.
“Where is he?” Julian asks.
Xander’s mouth twitches. “Late.”
“Ah.” Julian nods sagely. “So, the reunion really is authentic.”
Willow laughs softly beside him. Xander’s eyes slide toward her again.
That look passes between them now so easily it’s almost dangerous to witness up close. It still surprises me sometimes how completely she altered all of us.
Not intentionally.
That’s the thing about Willow. Nothing about her is calculated. Which is probably why she worked her way past every defense we had.
A sudden rise in noise rolls through the crowd near the entrance to the square. Phones lift.
There it is.
I glance toward the street just as another SUV pulls up.
Dylan steps out.
And Redemption Falls absolutely loses its mind.
Screaming erupts almost immediately from the outer barricades where fans gathered hours ago after rumors started circulating online.
Cameras flash nonstop now. Journalists surge forward. Security tightens around the perimeter.
Beside me, Willow blinks. “Holy shit.”
Dylan grins the second he sees the reaction, sunglasses pushed up into dark hair while the rest of The Last Rebels spill out behind him, carrying guitars and enough ego to destabilize several zip codes.
They look older, now.
Dylan catches sight of Xander across the square. And for one brief second, everything around us fades.
Dylan lifts one hand in greeting. And Xander nods back.
Beside me, Julian notices. “So, I’m gonna pretend I’m emotionally stable about this.”
“You’ve never been emotionally stable.”
“True.”
The crowd swells louder as The Last Rebels move toward the stage setup, shaking hands with producers and crew while reporters practically vibrate trying to get statements.
Nobody gets one yet.
Again, intentional.
Build anticipation first. Then payoff.
The formula exists because it works. But underneath the strategy, there’s something real happening here, too. That’s the dangerous part.
I spent years learning how to manufacture excitement. This isn’t manufactured.
This town is genuinely watching history happen in real time.
Willow steps closer beside me as movement starts around the stage. “What, exactly, is happening?”
I glance down at her. “At this point? Probably cultural mayhem.”
She laughs softly.
Then Xander climbs the stage steps, and the entire square goes silent. It’s fascinating watching him command attention without trying.
He steps toward the microphone while reporters crowd forward below the stage. “The Last Rebels are officially joining Redemption Records.”
The crowd erupts. Questions start flying from every direction.
“How long has this been planned?”
“Is the reunion permanent?”
“Are you touring?”
“Is The Lonely Ones involved?”
“Is Redemption Falls becoming a music hub?”
Xander waits. Lets the noise crest naturally before speaking again. “The Last Rebels will record their new album here in Redemption Falls.”
Another explosion of noise.
Beside me, Willow physically jumps at the volume. Julian looks delighted.
Xander continues calmly through it all. “And after the album releases… they’ll be touring globally.”
The reaction is nuclear.
I’ve seen major announcements before. Hell, I’ve orchestrated them. This is different. Because this isn’t just industry hype. This is legacy. Nostalgia. Excitement. History colliding with something new.
Phones lift everywhere. Social feeds explode in real time. News alerts probably start firing worldwide within seconds. And standing in the middle of Redemption Square watching it happen… I finally understand exactly what Xander did.
He didn’t just save the label.
He helped the town, too.
Because now Redemption Falls isn’t the place where scandal happened. It’s the birthplace of the biggest comeback story in music.
The Last Rebels launch into an old song and the entire square erupts. People scream lyrics. Phones wave overhead. Even locals who pretended they didn’t care start cheering.
The whole town vibrates with energy.
And standing there in the middle of it all, I realize this worked.
I glance toward Xander on stage again. He catches my eye briefly across the crowd.
There’s gratitude there. Trust.
For helping hold everything together long enough to get here.