Page 21 of Claimed By the Band

Frustration bubbles up in my chest. There has to be something here, some clue I'm missing. My gaze sweeps the room, landing on the vent system snaking across the ceiling. Interesting.

I make my way backstage, looking for something I can use to reach the vents. A refreshment cart catches my eye. Perfect. I wheel it over, glancing around to make sure the coast is clear before climbing up.

The vent cover comes off easily with the multi-tool I always keep on me. I hesitate for a moment, acutely aware of how screwed I'll be if I get caught. But the potential payoff... I take a deep breath and haul myself up into the vent.

It's a tight fit, even for someone as small as me. The metal is cool against my skin as I shimmy forward, trying to breathe as quietly as possible. My heart pounds in my ears, every creak and groan of the vent sending a spike of adrenaline through me.

Just when I'm starting to think this was a monumentally stupid idea, I see it. A scrap of cardboard caught on a rough edge of the vent. I inch closer, squinting in the dim light. There's something printed on it—the edge of a logo, maybe?

I carefully pry it loose, tucking it into my pocket. It's not much, but it's more than we had before. A potential lead to track down.

The sound of voices below sends a jolt of panic through me. Shit. I scramble backward as quietly as I can, replacing the vent cover just as the beta rounds the corner.

"There you are!" she calls, relief evident in her voice. "I was starting to worry."

I plaster on my most charming smile, smoothing my hair back into place. "Sorry about that. I was just checking if the backstage area is big enough for a group meditation. You know how artists can be."

The beta nods, clearly out of her depth. "Of course. Did you find it all satisfactory?"

"Oh, absolutely," I say, laying it on thick. "Just one question. Do you serve mountain water? It's essential for cleansing the aura before a performance. We'll needbuckets."

The beta's eyes widen slightly. "I... I'm not sure. I can check with our beverage supplier?"

I wave her off. "No need. I'll be in touch about the booking. Thank you for your time."

I make my exit as quickly as I can without arousing suspicion, breathing a sigh of relief as I slide into my car. That was way too close.

My phone buzzes as I start the engine. A text from Asher. I hesitate for a moment before opening it.

ASHER: Great news! Doc cleared Knox for touring. We're back on the road soon. Anything we should do to prepare?

I groan, letting my head thunk against the steering wheel. Of course they're going back on tour immediately. Because why make my job any easier?

Besides not go back on tour? No.

ASHER: You could always come with us. I'd feel sooo much safer.

Pass.

ASHER: Aw, come on, Echo. Where's your sense of adventure?

I roll my eyes.

Must have left it in my other pants. Along with my desire to get crushed in a mosh pit from hell.

ASHER: Harsh. But fair. Just in case you change your mind…

A photo pops up on my screen. It's a ridiculously over-the-top tour bus, all chrome and neon. Another message follows.

ASHER: This beauty could be your home away from home. Private room and everything. Sure I can't tempt you to join us?

I snort, shaking my head as I type my response.

Thanks, but I'll pass. I prefer my investigations less... mobile.

ASHER: Can't blame a guy for trying. One of these days I'll convince you to meet us in person.

A pang of something dangerously close to longing shoots through me. I push it down ruthlessly. Where the fuck did that come from?

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