Chapter 6: Confronting Lena (Nico POV)

We're still in Silas's loft, the laptop dead on the mattress, that half-read message stuck in my head. "You'll see me when," it said, then nothing. Time's running out, and I can't sit here anymore. My chest feels tight, like it's been since the video hit X. My phone's buzzing with crap, fans turning on me, gigs canceling, my name trashed. Silas is pacing, muttering about the bar on 47th, but I've got a different idea. "I'm going to see Lena," I say, standing up fast. He stops, looks at me. "What? Now?" I nod. "She's my ex. She might know something."

Silas frowns, hands in his pockets. "You sure? She could be part of this." I grab my jacket off the floor. "Maybe, but I've got to try. I'm cornered, Silas." He doesn't like it, I can tell, but he nods. "Fine. I'll come with you." I shake my head. "No, this is on me. Stay here, keep the laptop ready in case it boots up." He opens his mouth to argue, but I'm already heading for the door. I need answers, and Lena's my shot.

Her place is a short walk, a rundown apartment above a vape shop. The street's quiet, just a few cars humming by, and my sneakers slap the pavement loud. My mind's racing, Lena and I danced together years back, before I got big. She was good, sharp, but she faded when I took off. Last I heard, she was bitter. Could she do this? Blackmail me, leak that video? My stomach twists as I climb the stairs, knock hard on her door.

She opens it slow, leaning on the frame, her dark hair messy. "Nico," she says, voice flat, like she's not surprised. "What do you want?" I step closer, keeping my eyes on hers. "We need to talk." She smirks, steps back, lets me in. The place smells like smoke and cheap perfume, couch sagging in the corner, TV flickering with no sound. "Heard about your little scandal," she says, crossing her arms. "Guess fame bites, huh?"

I clench my fists, trying to stay calm. "Did you do it?" I ask straight up. "The video, the blackmail. Was it you?" Her smirk fades, and she looks away, picking at her nails. "You think I'd waste my time on that?" she says, but her voice wavers, not solid. I step closer. "Someone's got me, Lena. They filmed us, me and Silas. You knew my old crew. Tell me." She laughs, short and sharp. "Not my style, Nico. I don't play dirty like that."

"Then who?" I snap, louder than I mean. She sits on the couch, legs crossed, and looks up at me. "You've got enemies," she says, slow. "People who stuck around after you left them behind." My chest tightens. "Like who?" I ask, leaning in. She shrugs, but her eyes flicker, like she's holding back. "Think about it. Who'd know your moves, your spots?" I stare at her, old memories stirring up, dance rehearsals, late nights, faces I haven't seen in years.

"Jax?" I say, testing it. Silas's bartender buddy, always around. She shakes her head, quick. "Not him. Deeper." My mind flips to the crew, Zeke, maybe, a guy I ditched when he got too pushy. Or Mara, Silas's sister, mad enough to hurt us. "Give me a name," I say, voice hard. Lena leans back, smirking again. "I'm not your snitch, Nico. Figure it out." I want to yell, shake her, but she's too calm, like she's pointing me somewhere without saying it.

Those days come back, sharp and messy. Lena and I, side by side, sweating through routines. She'd grin, call me her rival, but when I got the big break, she stopped smiling. "You left me," she'd said once, voice cold. Now she's here, dodging my questions, and it's stirring up guilt I don't want. "I didn't mean to," I say, quiet, almost to myself. She hears, looks at me funny. "Yeah, you did," she says, softer. "But this isn't my revenge."

I pace her tiny room, floor creaking under me. "Then help me," I say, stopping to face her. "Tell me who's doing this." She stands, slow, walks closer. "I don't know for sure," she says. "But it's someone who's watched you climb, waited for you to fall." Her words hit hard, and I feel that panic again, the walls closing in. "Someone from my past?" I ask, voice shaking. She nods, just a little, eyes steady on mine.

We're close now, her breath warm, and I'm torn, old trust, new doubt. "Why not you?" I ask, one last push. She laughs, low. "I'd rather see you sweat than cash in," she says, and it almost sounds true. I don't know what to believe, but her hints are all I've got. Someone close, someone waiting. It's eating at me, pulling up faces, fights, stuff I buried.

She steps even closer, too close, and her eyes darken. "You don't know what you're getting into," she says, voice dropping, heavy with something I can't read. I freeze, heart pounding. "What's that mean?" I ask, but she just stares, lips tight. I'm reeling, questions spinning, can I trust her, trust anyone? Her words hang there, a threat I don't understand, and I'm lost, wondering who's really behind this mess.