Imogen’s eyebrows furrow. “Dead-end? But…she went on to do other things, you know. She’s—Natalia Ford is one of the most prominent TV showrunners in Hollywood. If a network needs a series course-corrected, they bring her in. She’s won three Emmys for her work.”

I blink. “No, she hasn’t.”

“Yeah. She definitely has.”

“Then why haven’t I head of her?”

“Well, she goes by N. A. Porter—”

I give a start. “As in Blades of Valor N. A. Porter? The Sunrise Girl N. A. Porter?”

“Yeah, Jess. You didn’t think she made all of her money from syndication, did you? They got paid peanuts for Starfield,” Imogen scoffs.

This information settles into the soft matter of my brain like pebbles at the bottom of a pond. When I complained about being typecast, about always being a foil, Natalia Ford told me to change things. Like she had as N. A. Porter.

She told me to change things because it isn’t as impossible as I’d thought.

Imogen slides out of the booth to return the mop to the bucket and then rolls it over to the waitress before coming back to sit down again. She takes off the brown wig, her pink pixie sticking up every which way, and steals one of my fries.

“Oh starflame—HOT!” She gasps as the hot sauce zings right to her nose. She grabs my water and chugs half of it. “Are you trying to kill me?”

I shrug and pop another fry into my mouth. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“Oh that’s going to burn for a while,” she says, fanning her open mouth. “All right. If we’re going to find this script, we need to figure out who stole it.”

“We?”

“You don’t think I’m going to let you do this alone, do you? We’ve still got time. There’s three hours until our last panel at ExcelsiCon, and what better place to reveal who the script belongs to if not at that panel?”

“I can’t ask you to help me—”

“I want to. Friends help each other, yeah? I mean, I’ve lived in your shoes for almost forty-eight hours, I think I know you better than I know my brother.” And Imogen smiles at that, because she knows Milo better than she knows herself, I think. “So, tell me everything you know about this thief.”

“Well, they’re at this convention, and they always seem to post when some big Starfield thing has happened or is about to happen.”

“That makes me think it’s someone associated with the film. Another actor?” Imogen leans back in the booth and frowns. “But then wouldn’t they have their own script?”

“No. My agent said I had the only one.”