Ghost Notes-Chapter 48: Voices in the Air

Chapter 48: Voices in the Air

Kael sat in the cozy clutter of CityEcho Blog's office, the city's late morning light spilling through a cracked window, mingling with the scent of ink and overbrewed tea. His guitar rested against a chair, the leather strap's stars catching the sun, a tether to his mom's pride. The Static's lightning still crackled—Shatterpoint at twenty-eight thousand listens, Flicker nearing seventeen thousand, the stream at thirty-five thousand views—but today's interview, Lex's latest lead, was a new kind of stage. Pulse of the Possible, their raw hymn for The Pulse in two weeks, hummed in Kael's mind, a lantern-lit vow against the world's noise.

Mira perched on a stool beside him, her borrowed guitar propped nearby, her scarf draped over her bag. Her sketchpad was tucked away, but Kael knew the lantern-lit street was alive in her thoughts, a symbol of their fight. Her eyes were bright but edged with nerves, her parents' college push a shadow despite their tentative pride. "This is different," she said, adjusting her mic, her voice low. "Talking about us, not just singing. Think we can keep it real?"

Kael nodded, his pulse steady despite the flutter in his chest. "We will. Just us, our story, no polish. They'll hear Shatterpoint, Static Sparks in our words." He thought of Veyl's Broken Signal, its call to hold truth, and Juno's text from this morning: "Talk like you play—raw. Pulse is waiting." His dad's Blue Shift tape, tucked in his pocket, was a quiet strength, its chords a reminder of what he'd chosen to keep.

The interviewer, a woman with a buzzcut and a warm smile, leaned in from across a cluttered desk. "Kael, Mira, we're live in ten. CityEcho's readers want your story—why you're the city's pulse. Ready?" Lex stood by the door, his notebook closed, his nod quiet but sure, their truce solid after The Static.

Mira's grin was shaky but fierce. "No choking," she whispered, echoing their stage vow.

"No choking," Kael said, his hand brushing hers, the spark between them—friendship, something more—a steady rhythm. The light blinked on, and the interviewer's voice filled the room.

"CityEcho here, with Kael and Mira, the raw sound blowing up from The Static to SoundSphere. Tell us—who are you, and what's your fire?"

Kael leaned into the mic, its metal cool. "We're just Kael and Mira," he said, his voice clear. "Two kids with guitars, singing what's true—our scars, our dreams, the city's pulse. Shatterpoint's about breaking through, Static Sparks's about cutting the noise. No labels, no strings."

Mira nodded, her voice steady. "It's about fighting for what's real. My songs—Flicker, Fireflies—they're me, pushing back against doubt, against 'practical.' We're not polished, and that's the point." Her eyes met Kael's, a spark flaring, her fear buried under fire.

The interviewer's eyes lit up. "That's raw. What's next? The Pulse? New songs?"

Kael grinned. "The Pulse, yeah. Small, gritty, ours. And a new song, Pulse of the Possible, about chasing dreams, no matter who pulls." He thought of Mira's parents, their pamphlets, and his mom's tearful pride.

Mira added, "It's us, holding the line. The city's with us—fans, buskers, dreamers. We're not alone." Her voice cracked, but she smiled, fierce.

The interview wrapped, the interviewer clapping. "You're lightning," she said. "The Pulse is gonna burn." Lex gave a quiet thumbs-up, his respect clear.

Outside, the city was alive, noon sun glinting off wet pavement, a busker's violin threading through the noise. Mira's grin was wide, her shadow lighter. "We told our story," she said, her voice thick. "It felt... right, Kael."

"Yeah," Kael said, his heart full. But her parents' pamphlets loomed, a fault line he feared might deepen. "You okay for The Pulse? Your parents..."

Mira's grin faltered, but her eyes were fierce. "They're coming, but I'm not theirs to pull. Fireflies is my truth. I'm holding on." She grabbed his hand, her grip steady, the spark flaring. "Together?"

"Always," Kael said, his fingers lacing with hers, the touch a vow. His phone buzzed—a SoundSphere comment on the interview clip, already posted: "You're our voice, our pulse. Pulse is next." Anonymous, maybe Veyl, maybe the city. He showed Mira, who laughed, her scarf catching the breeze.

"That's us," she said, her voice a vow. "Voices in the air."

Kael tucked his dad's tape deeper, its ghost a quiet ally. The Pulse loomed, Mira's parents closer, but Pulse of the Possible was their promise, raw and unbroken, ready to light the stage.

To be continued...

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