Chapter Four — The Trouble with Being Two Men (continued)

At seven that evening, Junia Kade was trying to persuade a radio not to die for the third time.

The set had been dropped from a workbench, stepped on, and subsequently donated to her repair shop with the optimistic label PROBABLY SIMPLE. Its speaker grille was crushed, one corner of the case was missing, and something inside rattled when she lifted it.

"That sounds expensive," said her coworker Malik.

"That's a screw," Junia said, tipping it into her palm. "The expensive noise is the one it makes when you switch it on."

Luna sat on a stool beside the parts cabinet, using a pair of needle-nose pliers to hold a tiny replacement bracket while Junia fitted the speaker. Her lemon bar from earlier had been reduced to crumbs in a paper bag. She had hardly spoken since arriving.

Junia left her alone for six whole minutes. It was a personal record.

"Gravity Thief belongs near the end of a live set," Junia said, testing a connection. "That's when you've earned that much noise."

Luna glanced up. "It's an opener. The whole point is to walk into the room like you own gravity."

"Then where do you go afterward? Through the ceiling? A setlist needs shape."

"A VESPER setlist has shape. You're just allergic to introductions with ambition."

"I'm allergic to people exhausting their best material before everybody's found their seat."

"You would schedule a thunderstorm between two ballads for optimal emotional drainage."

"With a sensible fifteen-minute interval," Junia agreed.

Malik leaned over the bench, waving his phone. "Speaking of VESPER, that Orbit account is getting passed around again. Massive engagement on the Glasshouse argument. Think she'd give our Saturday repair clinic a shout-out? We could use a free boost."

Luna's pliers stopped moving.

Junia didn't look up. "Why free?"

"It's a community event. And you follow her, right?"

"I follow a lot of people. Doesn't make them the shop's volunteer advertising department."

"It's one post."

"It's someone else's audience and time." Junia set the soldering iron safely in its stand. "If you want promotion, write a proper invitation and ask what it costs. Or put a flyer in our window like normal people."

Malik opened his mouth, considered his odds, and retreated to the printer.

"You didn't have to do that," Luna murmured.

"Yes, I did. I'm not having people invoice my friendships for zero dollars."

She switched on the radio. A hiss emerged, followed by a clear voice announcing road closures. Junia grinned, turned the dial twice, and heard music come through without the crushed-speaker rasp.

"That's my third resurrection this week," she said. "I'm taking tomorrow off. Wednesday is my Friday, and nobody gets to negotiate with it."

Luna smiled faintly. "Are you going to spend it rebuilding a radio?"

"No. I'm going to do absolutely nothing that requires a screwdriver. Now. Did Asher say something stupid?"

Luna gave her a look. "How did you know?"

"You have been holding a bracket upside down for ten minutes."

The story came out in uneven pieces: the coffee, the half-told joke, the video, Asher's comment about needing a mask to get her attention. Junia listened without interrupting, though her expression grew less amused.

"He made you feel small for being a fan," she said at last. "That's rotten."

"Thank you."

"And you turned a real person into hold music while you argued with strangers. Also rotten."

"I knew I shouldn't have come here."

"You came to the only place where you get honest technical support." Junia handed her the newly working radio. "I can't repair your date. I can tell you it sounds like two people who owe each other an apology."

Luna ran a thumb over the battered casing. "What if he doesn't call?"

"Then you'll find out what kind of man he is. But tonight isn't for guessing."

Malik returned with a flyer draft that had actual clinic hours and a proper contact number. Junia checked it, charged the shop's agreed repair fee to the radio's intake ticket, and switched off her bench lamp.

She had rescued a radio, defended a boundary, and refused an unpaid job nobody had the right to assign her.

For a Wednesday, it was a perfectly respectable Friday.