Chapter 6
Expectations: professional composure.
Reality: spiraling in a convention bathroom.
They went back to the press room, Leah guiding Emma into a corner with a ring light and two oversized BuzzFeed-branded beanbags. A girl barely out of high school grabbed Emma’s hand, beaming like they were best friends. Emma shot Leah a helpless look over her shoulder.
“Dial down your brain a bit and relax. You’ll be fine,” Leah mouthed back, flashing an exaggerated smile and a thumbs-up.
The next fifteen minutes blurred into a dizzying cascade of questions about Lucen’s spirit animal (black panther), Catlyn’s favorite Beyoncé song (“Survivor”), and—just when Emma thought she’d dodged the worst—whether it was true that Lucen was actually based on Darren Cole.
Emma parried with a light laugh and one of her well-practiced, strategically vague answers.
The Netflix lunch was in a sealed-off area on the west terrace, offering a gorgeous view of the marina below. The hors d’oeuvres were so tiny they barely counted as food, but Emma wasn’t hungry.
She smiled through a steady stream of congratulations on the series deal, forgot every name instantly, and nearly choked on a crab cake when someone casually mentioned that Darren Cole had already signed on to star as Lucen.
Leah swooped in like a human firewall, coolly pointing out that as an executive producer, Emma was part of the casting process and no decisions had yet been made, thank you very much.
Emma exhaled, heart still pounding. Darren seemed to hover everywhere she went—and she hadn’t even seen him yet.
Her work inbox kept swelling at an alarming rate. She took frequent bathroom breaks, firing away quick answers from her phone before Leah would suspect she was sneak-working.
During one of her micro-working bathroom breaks, a text from her parents dropped in among the notifications—Dad’s phone:
Hi sweetie hope you have a fun time in San Diego! Love Mom and Dad.
Emma’s chest pinched, followed by a swift rush of guilt.
She could picture them so clearly. Probably on the porch at the Stillwater Lake house, enamel mugs in hand.
Dad with his binoculars, ever hopeful some rare bird might cross the lake.
Suggesting they should send her a text, and Mom creasing her mouth that particular way she did whenever Emma’s writing career came up.
The look that meant, “I won’t argue, but don’t think I approve. ”
She read the text again. Hope you have a fun time in San Diego!
Nothing else. No “good luck.” No “we’re proud of you.”
Thank you! she texted back, pushing down the disappointment. Dad meant well; he just didn’t understand. And Mom, well, she had her reasons.
She went back to her email, where someone had asked if she knew the specification code for that 16 mm Allen bolt they’d phased out four months ago.
She did.
gig
The podcast was the first time Emma had felt herself breathe all day.
The twin hosts, Jake and Jonas, were calm, thoughtful, and actually listened before asking the next question.
She relaxed without noticing, enjoying their easy banter and their wide-eyed awe at Comic-Con. They were first-timers too.
“So,” Jake said once they’d warmed up, “The Bonds of Light has absolutely crushed the romantasy genre this spring, and your online fan base seems capable of powering small cities. We both love it too, obviously. Jonas has almost worn out Chapter Twenty-Six of his copy.”
“It’s true,” Jonas confirmed. “I’m on my second one.”
Emma laughed. “Yes, the crypt scene. I had a lot of fun writing that.”
Jake grinned. “It shows. So, for anyone who’s been living under a rock for the past few months, can you summarize what the book is about?”
Emma slipped into the elevator pitch that Leah had drilled into her. It was a lot punchier than the rambling, almost apologetic explanations she had given in the beginning.
The pitch used to make her uncomfortable—she felt like she was selling something. But by now, she had repeated it enough times that it was automatic.
“It’s set in a world of darkness, where light is controlled by a ruling class of wielders,” she said.
“And they need souls to fuel that power. Catlyn sells her soul in exchange for light for her village and ends up bound to Lucen, one of the most powerful and dangerous wielders. But Lucen gets far more than he bargained for. Because Catlyn has powers of her own and slowly starts to challenge the bond he holds over her.”
“Oh, yes, she does,” Jonas said under his breath.
Jake rolled his eyes. “Ignoring Jonas’s thirst trip over here—why do you think people are so obsessed with the story?”
The question was one she’d answered many times, but Emma paused to think. She wanted to give these guys something unique, something more than her off-the-rack answer.
“I think . . .” she started, searching for the right words.
“You know, there is the cool and fun stuff—the light-magic, the action, the enemies-to-lovers tension. But beneath all that? At its core, the story is about letting yourself be vulnerable. Both Catlyn and Lucen fight so hard to keep their guard up when what they really need is just the courage to let go. And I think that resonates with a lot of us.”
The twins exchanged a quick, unreadable look. Emma stiffened. Had she said anything wrong?
Jonas lifted his brows. “Huh. I thought you’d go with the sexy soul-binding. But that’s . . . actually a great answer.”
Jake smiled. “It’s got layers.”
“It does have layers,” Jonas filled in.
They fell back into their easy rhythm, and Emma let out a breath, leaning back in her chair. But for the rest of the interview, she stuck to her practiced answers.
After, she stepped out of the cramped podcast booth and into the bustle of the backstage hallway. The brightness made her blink, her mind still stuck on what she’d said about vulnerability.
When was the last time she’d actually allowed herself that? Bravery, intimacy, surrender. She lived in those themes on the page, but in real life, the risk never seemed worth it.
She’d read once that falling in love was like handing someone a loaded gun aimed at your heart and trusting them not to pull the trigger.
Never handing out a gun in the first place had just always struck her as the more sensible choice.
Maybe that was why she’d buried herself in stories, first as a reader, then as a writer. She could feel everything without consequence. Fall in love safely. The highs without the lows, the wanting without the wound.
It worked for her. Had always been enough.
So why did it suddenly feel . . . hollow?
Leah’s voice from earlier kept echoing: I just want people to see the Emma I see when you let your guard down. Not the one hiding.
The words stuck under her skin. Emma liked to think she was simply wired differently—more careful, more self-contained. But hiding? That wasn’t fair.
Was it?
She exhaled and headed to the cafeteria, where she found Leah pacing mid-phone call, gesturing liberally and speaking in rapid-fire Italian, a language Emma didn’t even know she spoke. Even after months of knowing her, Leah kept surprising.
When Leah caught sight of her, she beckoned her over with a finger, telling the person on the line to aspetta. She fished a narrow strip of paper from her handbag and handed it to Emma.
Emma took it, confused. Then it clicked. A soft gasp escaped her. The strip shimmered faintly in a black metallic foil, with the words Hall H VIP+ Special Access printed in gold across it. She looked up at her PR manager, eyes wide.
“Leah . . . is this—”
“Yes, yes, put it on, for Christ’s sake,” Leah said. She waved her hand impatiently, though a warm gleam shone in her eyes. “The panel starts any minute.”
“Oh my god, thank you,” Emma breathed. She peeled off the tape and fastened the black band around her wrist.
The thin strip of paper was probably one of the most coveted objects in the city right now. Leah must have truly worked some magic to get it. Possibly sacrificing a few goats—or maybe just yelling in Italian until someone caved.
“Go,” Leah mouthed, already diving back into her call.
Emma turned on her heel and made for the nearest staircase, heading down toward the ground level.
Darren Cole would be on stage in ten minutes.