Clara woke to the third alert.
The first two had slipped into her sleep as background noise. That happened often. Michael Erickson's media monitor watched too many names, too many outlets, too many markets. Most alerts were useless. A gossip account guessing at an MM Label release. A radio host mentioning Cassian. A small blogger trying to revive the audit story.
The third alert kept vibrating.
Clara reached across her bed, grabbed the phone, and opened one eye.
Then she sat up.
Marissa Cole.
For a few seconds, she only stared at the name.
She knew it. Not as a friend. Not even properly as a person she had been close to. But she knew the name because Michael had made everyone around him know which names not to bring up.
Marissa Cole had once been on the rise. Two singles. Strong press response. A planned album. Then the schedule changed, the interviews disappeared, and the official explanation became creative differences.
