The rain was wrong that night—too metallic, like the sky had been scraping its knees across the city. It rattled off the tin awning over the noodle stall where Jax hunched with his rig, steam and neon fighting for the same patch of air. The street was a river of reflections: ambulance blue, adboard pink,…
The night Marlow hit a million followers, the comments felt like confetti and static. Hearts bubbled up the screen; fireworks gifs and pixel crowns swarmed his phone. He should’ve felt triumphant. Instead, he stood in his dark kitchen, the fridge humming flat, his reflection fractured by the glow of notifications. His manager, Zara, texted:You did…