It feels like a rubber band that has been wound and wound and wound around me pops. I sink to the carpet, staring at the excerpt. There are no clues this time who this person is or where they are—just the barest edge of a leather sofa. But I’m not sure if I really care all that much who is leaking the script.

I don’t know what I thought I wanted to find in the sequel.

I don’t know how I expected to feel.

But it isn’t…this.

I pull up Dare’s number, but I hesitate to call. It’s noon, and the cast has a panel at noon.

The news broke during the panel, I realize, and my stomach twists into knots. I hope Imogen doesn’t do anything stupid.

Ethan won’t let her. Will he?

Imogen

A PHONE DINGS IN THE AUDIENCE—Starfield’s communication tone—and then another ding in the front row. Then a hundred dings in succession.

My smartphone vibrates on the table.

Darien and I, the only two of us on the panel (Amon, our moderator, is late), look at each other. We’re supposed to be talking about what it’s like to play opposing forces. “Star-Crossed in Starfield” is the name of the panel, and, you know, I was feeling pretty good about bullshitting my way through it.

Another phone dings.

Now I shift in my chair, apprehensive.

A murmur sweeps across the crowd.

My phone vibrates for only two things right now: my mothers texting me or another leak of the script.

I don’t know what to do—should I read it like everyone in the audience is obviously doing? My eyes stray to the front row until I realize that Ethan isn’t there. I left the hotel without him this morning. I didn’t go to Jess’s room to see if he’d escort me to the convention, and I did well by myself. The paparazzi greeted me outside the con and I gave them Jess’s best smile as I breezed past.

I don’t need to apologize to Ethan—he was out of line last night, too. Way, way out of line. Although, I barely slept a wink in my hotel room, my traitorous brain writing and rewriting apology texts to him that I never sent.

Not that I would apologize.

Not until he apologized first.

Darien makes the executive decision to check his phone, and the warm look that he’d fixed on his face grows stony.

And then distant.

I check the notification, too. My breath catches in my throat.

Oh, starflame.

@starfieldscript337

CARMINDOR DIES. LOOKS LIKE WE’RE IN FOR A NEW HERO.