Chapter 37
chapter thirty-seven
The crowd quickly outgrew the space. The low hum of voices layered over the clatter of glasses, the occasional burst of laughter swallowed by something heavier—anticipation, urgency, the sharp edge of a moment about to tip over.
Eden barely noticed.
She was locked in, fingers flying over the keyboard, a picture of focus. The glow of her laptop flickered across her face as she flipped between security feeds, encrypted messages, and the rally’s official website—her website now.
She took it back. Again.
The state’s polished, propaganda-laden homepage was infected. The sharp, clean reds and whites of its messaging were now drowned in color—live feeds of the protest flickering across every page.
A sea of rainbows, defiance, resistance.
Dax watched in awe behind her. “Shit. That’s beautiful.”
Eden smirked, not looking away from the screen as she tapped in another command. “It’s some of my best work.”
The state tried to wipe them out. Erase them. But here they were, their faces, voices, and bodies flooding the screens they had no control over. Every person arriving at the rally, every banner unfurled, every kiss exchanged in protest—all broadcasted directly onto the state’s pages.
And that was just the beginning.
She also breached the city’s surveillance feeds. Now, she could see everything.
Multiple screens flickered in front of her—live views from security cameras positioned all over the Capitol. She could see the rally stage, the barricades, and the growing tension in the crowd.
And more importantly?
She could see the police.
Dax peered at one of the screens, jaw tightening. “They’re stacking up.”
Eden followed his gaze. Lines of riot cops, clustered just beyond the public eye, tucked behind official buildings. Waiting.
Her fingers moved fast, isolating angles, zooming in on the formations, noting their weapons.
“They knew we’d show up,” she muttered. “But they weren’t ready for this many.”
Dax worked on his phone, pushing their message harder—dropping coordinates, telling people where to go, how to move.
“Do you think they’re gonna shut down the feeds?”
“They’ll try.” Eden’s smirk sharpened. “But they won’t get far.”
She didn’t wait for him to respond. “We just need to keep the feeds up long enough.”
Dax looked over, eyebrows raised. “Long enough for what?”
Eden didn’t look up from her screen. Just smiled—small, focused, quietly dangerous.
“You’ll see, buddy.”
She buried herself deeper into the system. She had back doors if they wiped the website again, even if they cut external access. Mirrors. Redundancies laced through every layer.
They would see. Everyone would see.
She pulled up another stream and scanned the crowd, watching the numbers climb.
More than they ever expected.
More than even she expected.
* * *
The streets leading up to the Capitol were a wall of sound.
Christine, Oakland, Silver, and Spencer pushed through the packed sidewalks, surrounded by people moving toward the rally like a wave gathering momentum. Chants echoed off the stone buildings, voices blending into a roar, signs bobbing above heads like flags in a storm.
“MARRIAGE ISN’T YOURS TO TAKE.”
“WE WERE MARRIED. WE STILL ARE.”
“FAITH DOESN’T BELONG TO BIGOTS.”
Oakland felt it immediately.
That deep, twisting unease. The kind that sat low in her stomach, coiled tight like a warning she couldn’t quite name.
The crowd was massive—bigger than any of them anticipated. But it wasn’t just them.
Across the street, behind the barriers, the opposition arrived in droves.
Men in suits with carefully neutral expressions stood just far enough from the chaos to look untouched. Women gripped rosaries, whispering among themselves as they watched with thin-lipped disapproval. Young guys in crisp red polos, arms crossed, were waiting.
Above them, the sky was just as crowded.
Overhead, military crafts loomed, their dark silhouettes cutting through the haze.
Drones buzzed between them, weaving past news cameras and surveillance feeds.
Helicopters circled, their searchlights sweeping across the streets, tracing the edges of the crowd.
And among them—Vipers. Sky motorcycles, sleek and fast, weaving dangerously through the chaos above, piloted by officers ready to drop down the second things escalated.
Oakland clenched her jaw and tightened her grip on Christine’s hand.
Christine glanced at her. “You good?”
Oakland nodded—even though she wasn’t really sure of the answer.
Spencer and Silver walked just ahead. Spencer took in the scene with sharp, calculating eyes, while Silver—who was usually the first to charge into chaos with a grin—seemed… uneasy.
“Damn,” Silver muttered, shoving her hands into her pockets. “This is intense. There are so many of them.”
Spencer snorted. “What, homophobes? They’re like roaches.”
Silver huffed out a short laugh, but the tension didn’t ease.
And Oakland couldn’t blame her. Seeing them up close was different—not filtered through headlines or soundbites, but here. In person. Breathing the same air.
The architects of broken families.
The zealots who twisted faith into something cruel.
The polished mouths behind podiums and broadcasts, preaching morality while quietly signing lives away.
And the worst part?
A year ago, she would’ve stood with them.
She would have stood beside her father, nodding along, repeating the lines about tradition and God’s will even if she didn’t believe a word of it.
The thought made her stomach twist.
Because now?
Now, she knew what it felt like to have her life—her love—become debatable and have her rights stripped by people who pretended to do it for the greater good.
Now, she knew better.
Oakland forced herself to look away, to focus on something else—anything else.
Because if she let herself think about that too much, it might consume her.
Spencer caught the shadow of unease in Oakland and, in an attempt to lighten the mood, nudged her elbow, smirk lazy and effortless. “So, uh, when exactly do I get my prize for putting up with all of this?”
Oakland arched a brow. “Your prize?”
Spencer gestured vaguely between Christine and Oakland. “You two. Being disgustingly in love. I’ll never see my sister again. I should get financial compensation.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
Oakland felt the warmth before she could even name it, blooming deep in her chest—steady, certain, and nothing to do with nerves.
Love.
Neither of them said that yet.
Not outright.
Before she could spiral, Silver spoke up—loud, unbothered, grinning. “Oh, don’t worry, Spence. I can help.”
Spencer turned to her, squinting. “Help how?”
Silver shrugged, shoving her hands deeper into her pockets. “Well, I mean… if you’re so lonely over there, I could always—y’know—hang out at your place more. Crash sometimes. Give the girls their space.”
Christine, who just took a sip of water, nearly choked.
Oakland blinked, wholly derailed from her love spiral.
For the first time in a long time, Spencer looked genuinely surprised.
* * *
Sensing the weight of what she’d just said, Silver reached for Spencer’s wrist, a light tug. She didn’t pull her far, just enough to step out of the thick of the crowd, just enough to make the moment theirs.
Silver rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly restless in a way that wasn’t like her.
“I’m just trying to say that I don’t hate hanging out with you,” she explained, voice quieter now.
Then, after a beat—“And maybe we could, um, see if there’s something there between us. Just, you know. Hypothetically.”
Spencer didn’t answer right away.
And Silver didn’t know what to do with that.
Spencer always had a reply, joke, smirk, or smart remark rolling off her tongue like breathing.
But now, she was just… looking at her.
Not in the way someone looks at a joke or an idea they plan to dismiss.
But in a way that made Silver’s heart do something fucking weird.
The quiet lingered, filled only by the distant roar of the rally, which was building in intensity.
Finally, Spencer shook her head with a small, disbelieving smile. “Christine would be so pissed.”
Silver beamed, practically vibrating. “I know.”
Spencer huffed a small laugh, glancing down for half a second before looking back at her. “Are you serious, Silver?”
Silver nodded. “I mean—yeah. I don’t know. I just think…” She trailed off, taking a breath before forcing herself to be honest. “I like being around you, Spence. And I think maybe—” She shook her head, grinning. “Fuck, I don’t know how to say this.”
Spencer arched a brow, amused now. “You? Speechless? That’s a first.”
Silver groaned, nudging into her shoulder playfully. “Shut up.”
Spencer laughed, the tension cracking just enough to make it feel light again. But the weight of the moment was still there. Still real.
Silver bit her lip, shifting on her feet. “I mean, if the age thing is weird for you, I can just—” She cut herself off, suddenly feeling stupid. “Actually, just forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Spencer blinked. Then laughed.
Like, actually laughed. “Well, that was the shortest romance in history.”
It was so immediate, so effortless, that Silver narrowed her eyes. “What?”
“Silver, you are, without a doubt, the least mature person I know.”
Silver gasped, clutching her chest like she’d been personally attacked. “Rude.”
“True.”
Silver huffed, crossing her arms. “Okay, fine, but like—emotionally, I’m basically?—”
“—A drama tornado in a leather jacket?” Spencer cut her off. “Yeah, I know.”
Silver gaped. “Unbelievable. You’re so lucky I like you.”
Spencer tilted her head, thoughtful. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Spencer looked away, running a hand through her hair as her cheeks reddened. She looked at Silver for a long second before nudging her elbow. “Maybe you should ask me out, then. Just to see what I say.”
Silver froze.
Spencer turned back to the crowd.
“C’mon,” she called over her shoulder. “We’ve got a rally to ruin.”
Silver blinked, her brain scrambling to reboot.
And then—the wave of noise hit.