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Chapter 1

January 8th 2024

London

Rain slicked the streets as I hurried towards the building I’d worked in for nearly two years. A squat, glass-fronted edifice in an area dominated by identical glass and concrete structures. The Frequency offices didn’t stand out, but to me they were a beacon. The place where I’d struck out on my own, the place that had allowed me the freedom to build a career. Put my name in print. And find my purpose.

I had a feeling today would mark a turning point, and as I stepped through the automatic doors of the lobby, the rush of heated air knocked me out of my introspection and back into the present. A present where I was slightly late for a meeting with my managing editor.

“You’re late,” the receptionist chirped, not bothering to look up from the stack of papers she was stapling together.

“I know,” I whined, hurrying over to the lift, and jamming my thumb against the call button, wiping damp hair from my face.

“It’s out of order,” the receptionist called.

“Fuck,” I muttered, half-running to the door on the other side of the lobby and yanking it open, launching myself up the stairs. Thankfully, the lifestyle offices were only three floors up, but I was still breathing heavily by the time I pushed open the door to the open plan offices. I swung my head from side-to-side, taking in the banks of desks and the sound boards separating them. Phones rang constantly, providing a soundtrack to the office that never seemed to pause, despite the fact that most people conversed primarily through virtual meetings and video calls.

I spotted my boss right away. Denise Cohen, managing editor for the London Frequency branch, was pacing the length of one of the small meeting rooms tucked away at the back of the office. I hurried over, dumping my coat and bag at my desk on the way, and only just managed to calm my racing heart by the time I knocked on the door. I plastered on a smile when she looked up, waving me in as she continued whatever call she was on. It gave me time to wipe my sweaty palms on the back of my jeans before I stepped into the room, closing the door behind me and taking a seat at the table.

“Kaiya,” she sighed eventually, pulling her headphones off and dumping them irreverently on the table. She frowned, looking down at her watch. “Sorry about that, did I keep you waiting?”

“No, not at all,” I said quickly.

“Right then. What can I do for you?”

“Oh, erm. I was expecting… did you not get an email from–”

“Oh! Shit, yeah. Sorry,” she shook her head, laughing a little. “ENT. Yes, they did email back regarding shared rights.”

I waited a second. “And?”

“Yeah. No. They won’t negotiate, Kaiya. They were very clear. No shared rights of publication. You can’t be on contract with us, and them. Either you’re theirs, or you’re ours.”

“Bugger,” I muttered, squeezing my eyes closed for a moment.

I had suspected as much. When Director Kang had first approached me about joining the upcoming GVibes tour as an embedded journalist, I had agonised for days over leaving my job as a staff journalist at Frequency. I had fought for this job. I had worked hard, and I had made a path for myself here. It was not an opportunity I wanted to give up. After some back-and-forth, I’d proposed a shared-publication deal with ENT and Frequency – who had been happy enough to keep me on if ENT were willing to share. It would have meant that while I’d be touring with GVibes and providing all the tour-related deliverables to ENT, I’d still be on the Frequency roster, taking assignments. But I’d suspected that ENT wouldn’t go for it.

I groaned, dropping my head into my hands.

“Yeah,” Denise clucked sympathetically. “It’s a hell of an opportunity. What will you do?”

I let my arms fall into my lap as I leaned back in my chair. I’d already made my mind up during that phone call in December. Denise regarded me for a moment, before nodding, pursing her lips.

“I don’t blame you. I’d do the same, if I had the youth and liberty.” She said, unconsciously spinning her wedding ring around her finger. “When do you want to work up until?”

I was very, very lucky that Frequency had already agreed to let me work with a flexible notice period.

I let out a small sigh, heart hammering. “End of the month?”

“Fine by me.” She shrugged. “I did check, by the way. Freelancing is still on the table while you’re under contract with ENT. You just can’t be formally attached to a publication. So, anything you want to submit while you’re away, run it by us first, yeah? We want right of first-refusal.” She said it sternly, but the smile was anything but.

I laughed, breaking the tension a little.

“You got it, Denise.”

For a few moments we fell silent, and I shuffled awkwardly in my chair. “Is this where I tell you how grateful I am for everything?” I ignored the slight lump in my throat.

Denise rolled her eyes. “You can if you want, but it would only force me to remind you how hard you worked for for it. Seriously, Kaiya. Bloody well done. Here, there. Wherever you end up. Although, if you ever do come back to London, don’t be a stranger. Drop me a line.”