Chapter 1

(Dawn follows her chaotic younger sister Wynnie to a Billie Eilish concert, only to lose her after the show and end up locked backstage in the empty arena corridors. )

Dawn had learned a long time ago that saying no to Wynnie was a waste of energy.

The girl had inherited their mother’s stubbornness and somehow managed to make every request sound like a life-or-death situation.

This week’s emergency?

Billie Eilish.

“Dawn, please.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“You’ve been saying the same word for ten minutes.”

“And you’ve been saying the same word back.”

Dawn kept her eyes on her laptop, pretending the conversation didn’t exist even though it absolutely did.

Wynnie dropped dramatically onto the couch beside her with the kind of theatrical despair only a 16 year old could master.

“I’ll literally never ask for anything ever again.”

“You said that when you wanted concert tickets.”

“Okay, but this time I mean it.”

Dawn finally looked up slowly, unimpressed.

“Isn’t this about the concert tickets?”

A pause.

“…Maybe.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet you love me.”

Unfortunately, she wasn’t wrong.

Three months later, Dawn found herself standing in a crowded arena surrounded by thousands of screaming people.

The air itself felt alive, thick with anticipation, vibrating underfoot like the building had a pulse of its own. Every conversation around her had turned into noise, every breath into waiting.

The lights dimmed.

The room erupted.

And somewhere beside her, Wynnie practically dissolved into pure chaos.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.”

Dawn laughed despite herself, watching her sister clutch her chest like she was witnessing something sacred.

“You do realize she’s just a person, right?”

Wynnie turned instantly.

A look of absolute betrayal.

“No.”

Dawn sighed.

“Fair enough.”

When Billie finally appeared on stage, it didn’t feel like an entrance.

It felt like a shift in gravity.

The crowd changed before anything else did, like everyone had unconsciously agreed to breathe differently at the same time.

Dawn noticed it even though she wasn’t trying to.

Not a fan.

Not really.

But not unaffected either.

There was something about the way Billie moved across the stage that didn’t feel performed. It felt lived-in. Natural. Like she wasn’t trying to become anything bigger than herself, and somehow that made her larger anyway.

Even from that distance, she looked real in a way that didn’t match the scale of the room.

Wynnie was gone by the third song.

Not physically.

Mentally.

Completely.

Every lyric was sung like it meant something personal. Every chorus felt like it belonged to her alone, even though she was sharing it with thousands of strangers.

Dawn found herself watching her instead of the stage more than once.

That alone made the night feel worth it.

The final song arrived too quickly.

Like time had been folded without permission.

Phones lifted across the arena, scattering light like artificial stars. The music softened, stretched, then finally dissolved into applause that felt both deafening and hollow at the same time.

The lights rose slowly.

Reality returned reluctantly.

People began filing toward the exits in waves, slow at first, then steady, like the spell breaking was contagious.

The air felt different again.

Heavier.

Ordinary.

“Wynnie?” Dawn asked, turning slightly.

No answer.

She turned fully.

The space beside her was empty.

Her stomach dropped instantly.

Not because she thought something bad had happened.

But because she knew Wynnie.

This was exactly the kind of situation Wynnie would accidentally manufacture.

“Wynnie.”

Nothing.

Dawn stood up on her toes, scanning over the moving crowd. Jackets, backpacks, glowing phone screens. Conversations overlapping.

No blonde hair.

No sign of her sister at all.

A familiar frustration settled in her chest, tightening slightly.

She pulled out her phone.

Three messages.

WYNNIE:
I THINK I SAW THE MERCH TABLE

WYNNIE:
WAIT NEVER MIND

WYNNIE:
OMG

That last message had been twenty minutes ago.

Of course it had.

Dawn exhaled sharply through her nose.

“Of course.”

She started moving.

At first it was controlled, walking. Then faster. Then pushing gently through the thinning crowd.

“Wynnie!”

No response.

The arena was emptying too quickly now, like it had decided it was done with them.

And then she saw it.

A flash of blonde hair near a side corridor.

A door marked STAFF ONLY, slightly ajar.

“Wynnie!”

Dawn didn’t think.

She followed.

The door swung inward with too much ease, like it had been waiting for someone to make the mistake.

And then it closed behind her.

Click.

The sound didn’t belong to the arena anymore.

It belonged somewhere else entirely.

Silence hit first.

Not gentle silence.

Not peaceful silence.

Empty silence.

The kind that made sound feel like something distant and remembered rather than something real.

Dawn stopped immediately.

The corridor was colder than anything inside the arena. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead in uneven intervals, casting everything in a pale, slightly sickly glow. The walls were concrete, lined with cables that disappeared into corners like they didn’t want to be seen.

“Wynnie?” she called again.

Her voice didn’t travel.

It just dropped.

No echo.

No reply.

Nothing.

Dawn exhaled slowly, already feeling her instincts shift from annoyance into something sharper.

“Okay,” she muttered. “This is officially worse than I thought.”

She turned back.

Tried the door.

Locked.

A pause.

Then a quiet, disbelieving laugh escaped her.

“Brilliant.”

She stood there for a second longer than she should have, just staring at it, as if the door might change its mind out of guilt.

It didn’t.

So she turned away and started walking.

At first, she tried to stay logical.

Left turns. Right turns. Checking intersections. Trying to map the space in her head.

But the building refused to cooperate.

Every corridor looked the same. Every door is identical. Storage rooms filled with cases, cables, forgotten equipment, half-open crates like someone had stepped out mid-thought and never returned.

The deeper she went, the less the arena existed in her mind.

It started to feel like a memory instead of a place she had been only minutes ago.

Eventually, she stopped checking for Wynnie altogether.

Eventually, she realized she hadn’t heard another human voice in a long time.

And then she turned a corner.

The space opened.

Wider. Colder. Still.

A single overhead lamp flickered faintly above a large loading area, casting everything in unstable light.

And in the center of it….

Someone sitting on a black flight case.

Completely alone.

Dawn didn’t recognize her immediately.

Just the posture.

The stillness.

The quiet weight of someone existing in a space that didn’t demand anything from them.

Then the girl lifted her head.

And recognition arrived like an impact.

Billie Eilish.

But not the version from the stage.

Not the version the crowd had just screamed for.

This was something stripped back.

Human.

Hair slightly messy, makeup softened by time and exhaustion, hoodie oversized and swallowed by her frame. She looked like someone who had stepped out of noise and forgotten to step back into it.

For a second, neither moved.

Billie blinked first.

Her gaze landed on Dawn slowly, like she was trying to understand why she was there without asking too quickly.

“…I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.”

Dawn let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

A small, disbelieving smile formed anyway.

“Neither am I.”

Something shifted in Billie’s expression.

Not recognition.

Curiosity.

“You lost?” she asked.

Dawn leaned slightly against the doorway, still half-aware of the corridor behind her.

“My sister disappeared,” she said. “So yes. But also I think I just followed the wrong blonde person into an entirely different dimension.”

A beat.

Then Billie laughed softly under her breath, shaking her head.

“That sounds about right.”

Dawn raised an eyebrow.

“You say that like this is normal.”

Billie glanced down at the fries resting in her hands.

“It happens more than you’d think,” she said. “Just usually not to people who aren’t supposed to be here.”

There was something calm in the way she said it.

Not guarded.

Just… honest.

Dawn stepped further inside.

The air here felt different. Still. Almost fragile. Like it could break if either of them spoke too loudly.

Up close, Billie felt even more real than she had from the doorway.

Not distant.

Not untouchable.

Just tired.

Present.

Billie shifted slightly on the flight case, watching her properly now.

After a moment, she lifted the carton.

“Want one?”

Dawn looked at it.

“They’re cold.”

Billie nodded.

“They’re still food.”

“That’s not a good argument.”

A faint smirk.

“It’s all I’ve got.”

That was enough.

Dawn took one.

And for a moment, everything else disappeared again.

No Wynnie.

No crowd.

No expectation.

Just silence.

Salt.

And two people sitting in a place that felt like it didn’t belong to either of them.

Dawn glanced at her.

“So what is this?” she asked softly. “Your hiding place after shows?”

Billie leaned back slightly, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

“Something like that,” she said. “Just somewhere quiet before everything starts again.”

That landed deeper than either of them acknowledged.

Dawn looked down at the fry in her hand.

“I think I understand that,” she said quietly.

Billie didn’t respond immediately.

But she looked at her longer than before.

And in the space between them, something subtle began to exist.

Not connection yet.

But the beginning of one.

And neither of them moved away from it.

The silence between them didn’t feel like absence anymore.

It felt… occupied.

Like something had quietly settled in the space without asking permission.

Billie shifted slightly on the flight case, stretching one leg out as if her body had finally remembered it was allowed to relax. The fries in her lap had gone untouched for a few seconds now, but she didn’t seem in a rush to do anything with them.

Dawn stayed where she was too.

Not because she didn’t know she could leave.

But because leaving suddenly felt unnecessary.

“Your sister,” Billie said after a while, breaking the quiet without fully disturbing it, “she’s the blonde one you followed into the void?”

Dawn let out a short laugh through her nose.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Billie nodded like that explained a lot about the universe.

“How do you lose a person inside a building this big?”

Dawn tilted her head slightly, thinking about it.

“You underestimate her commitment to bad decisions.”

That earned a small smile from Billie.

“A talent,” she said.

“An inherited one.”

That made Billie glance up again, more attentive this time.

“Runs in the family?”

“Apparently,” Dawn said. “My mother would probably also get lost backstage at a concert if left unattended.”

Billie snorted softly at that, actually looking amused now in a way that reached her eyes properly.

For a moment, she studied Dawn again, less like a stranger now, more like a question she hadn’t decided how to phrase yet.

“You didn’t react at all,” Billie said suddenly.

Dawn blinked.

“To what?”

“To… me.”

The way she said it wasn’t defensive.

Just curious.

Dawn glanced around the empty loading space as if checking whether there was someone else Billie might be referring to.

Then she shrugged.

“I mean… I did,” she said. “I was confused. Then I was mildly concerned about my sister. Then I got lost in what I think is either a building or a maze designed by someone with issues.”

A pause.

Then she added, more honestly:

“And you were just… here.”

Billie looked at her for a second.

Like she was trying to decide if that answer made sense or if it was somehow worse than the usual ones.

“It’s usually louder,” Billie said quietly.

Dawn understood what she meant without needing it explained.

She leaned back slightly against the doorway now, arms loosely crossed.

“I don’t really do loud,” she said.

Billie raised an eyebrow.

“Not even at concerts?”

“I mean,” Dawn glanced around. “Apparently I do losing-my-sister-in-a-backstage-labyrinth loud.”

That got a real laugh out of Billie this time, short, surprised, like it slipped out before she could stop it.

The sound softened something in the room even further.

Dawn noticed that.

Billie noticed Dawn noticing it.

And neither commented on it.

Instead, Billie finally picked up a fry again, eating it this time like she remembered food existed.

“So,” she said after a moment. “You always end up in places you’re not supposed to be, or is this a special occasion?”

Dawn thought about it seriously.

Then shook her head.

“This is definitely top three worst navigation moments of my life.”

Billie nodded.

“That’s impressive. This place has a lot of competition.”

That made Dawn smile a little.

There was something strange about how easy this was.

Not forced.

Not careful.

Just… conversation.

Like the world outside hadn’t decided who either of them were supposed to be in relation to each other.

Dawn shifted slightly, finally moving fully into the room instead of lingering at the edge. The air felt colder here, but not uncomfortable anymore. Just still.

She glanced at Billie again.

“You were really good, by the way,” she said suddenly.

Billie paused mid-motion.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

Then she gave a small shrug.

“Thanks.”

There was a slight awkwardness to it not insecurity, exactly, but something like not knowing where to place praise when she wasn’t performing.

Dawn noticed that too.

“You don’t like compliments?” she asked.

Billie looked at her for a second.

“I don’t really know what to do with them,” she admitted.

“Seems fair,” Dawn said. “They’re kind of weird when you think about it.”

That earned another quiet smile.

For a few seconds, neither spoke again.

But the silence this time wasn’t empty.

It was just… resting.

Then, faintly…

A vibration cut through the moment.

Dawn froze slightly, pulling her phone from her pocket.

Wynnie.

CALLING.

She stared at it for a second too long.

Billie noticed immediately.

“You should probably get that,” she said, not asking.

Dawn didn’t move right away.

The screen lit her face in the dim space between them.

She let out a slow breath.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Probably.”

She answered.

“Wynnie?”

Immediate noise on the other end. Fast, panicked, overlapping words.

“I SWEAR I DIDN’T MEAN TO— I TURNED AROUND AND YOU WERE GONE AND THEN I THINK I ENDED UP BACKSTAGE BUT ALSO THERE WAS A SECURITY GUY AND—”

Dawn closed her eyes briefly.

“Where are you?”

A pause.

“…Near merch?”

Dawn exhaled.

Of course.

“Stay there. Don’t move. I’m coming.”

She hung up.

The silence returned instantly, but now it felt different.

Heavier.

Dawn looked back at Billie.

“I have to go,” she said.

Billie nodded once.

No surprise.

No protest.

Just understanding.

“Your chaos needs you,” she said.

Dawn let out a short laugh.

“Something like that.”

She hesitated for a second longer than necessary.

Then added:

“Thanks… for the fries. And the not-panicking.”

Billie shrugged slightly.

“You didn’t panic either.”

Dawn paused at that.

Then smiled properly.

“Yeah,” she said. “I guess not.”

Another beat.

The kind that felt like it could stretch into something else if neither of them interrupted it.

Dawn finally reached into her pocket again, pulling out her phone.

She hovered for a second.

Then, almost awkwardly:

“Do you… have a phone?”

Billie blinked once.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

That got a real laugh out of Dawn.

“Can I get your number?” she asked, more direct than she expected to be.

A pause.

Then Billie tilted her head slightly.

“Are you going to lose it immediately like your sister?”

“Probably.”

“Fair warning appreciated.”

But she stood anyway.

Took her phone out.

They exchanged numbers in the quiet glow of that flickering light.

No music.

No crowd.

No cameras.

Just two names becoming contact entries in a world that still hadn’t decided what this moment meant.

When it was done, Dawn stepped back toward the corridor.

She paused once at the doorway.

Looked back.

Billie was still sitting on the flight case.

Watching her.

Not like a fan watching someone leave.

Just like someone remembering a conversation they didn’t want to end yet.

“Bye, Billie,” Dawn said.

Billie lifted two fingers slightly in a small, lazy wave.

“Try not to lose yourself again,” she said.

Dawn smiled.

“No promises.”

And then she was gone.

The door clicked softly behind her.

And the silence stayed.

But it didn’t feel empty anymore.