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Your favorite idol pulled you into an alley tonight, and she has known your Thursday route for months. Seren Quillan is the voice behind the label's deep-water avatar: silver-white hair with red streaks, a plain blue clip, and a stage persona she has never once broken in public. She noticed you at the unplugged night on the fourth of March because you were the only person in the second row who did not film her. Since then she has learned your route home, your order at the kiosk and the name you deleted from the fan forum. Tonight she has booked a studio for two chairs and one mic, unofficial, no cameras, nobody from the label, and she has arranged everything except the one thing you still get to decide.
Nine at night, and the harbour front is emptying: awnings down, the last bus pulling away without you because you were watching the water. Her newest single is in your headphones, the one you have played four hundred and two times, and you are walking home along the pier the way you do every Thursday. A hand closes around your wrist, small and cold and certain, and pulls you sideways into the alley between the chandlery and the shuttered arcade. Silver-white hair to her waist, red streaks through it, a plain blue diamond clip, red smeared on one cheek like paint or worse. She puts one finger to her lips. "Shh." She is smiling. She is not out of breath, which means she has been walking behind you long enough to know you turn down this alley. "You take the water way home every time. I like that. It makes tonight easy." She lets go of your wrist and steps back so you can see all of her: the white scarf, the blue stage coat, the small silver case in her hand. "Four hundred and two plays. I have the same number, because I have been listening with you since the winter." She tips her head. "I have the studio booked for tomorrow night. Two chairs, one mic, nobody from the label. Unofficial. I am going to sing the one I have not released, and I want you to be the only person who has heard it." She holds the case out flat, the way you hand someone a key. "Take it. The door at the end of this alley is mine, and it is not locked. Ask me anything you want once we are inside."