You Are Not the Signal - Part 2
Missed the first note of the siren’s song? Or need a refresher? Go back to Episode 1:
It would be easy, but it would be untrue. And it would haunt me for the rest of my life.
I owed Liam this. After all he did for me over the years of our friendship, I wouldn’t be where I was without him.
The USB drive had a single file named "Harmonia_Clipped," an audio file with a smooth, reassuring voice that floated through my headphones. The woman introduced herself as Callista Vale. Clear, serene, precise.
She said things like 'dream big ' and the ever-inspiring ‘unlock your potential.’ The usual motivational gospel. But something in her cadence made the words land differently, as if they weren't instructions but prophecy.
The audio cut off abruptly.
Without a second thought, I picked up my phone to call my boss.
“I quit,” I said.
Before he could say anything, I hung up.
And I stared at my phone in disbelief. Not because my boss was calling me back, but because I had no desire to answer. Because I had just quit my job like it was nothing, with no warning or a plan. Like flicking a switch that I hadn’t realized was wired to my hand.
It wasn’t that I hated my job. I enjoyed working at the Richmond Times-Dispatch. Sure, it had flaws, but it was mine: a byline, a rhythm, a place to belong. If you asked my parents, it was a compromise—not pharmacy, not dentistry—but at least it was stable. Respectable. And, Liam said I had the voice for it. The kind that sounds like it knows something.
I wasn’t ready to torch it all. At least, I didn’t think I was. But then Callista’s voice came back, the last thing I’d heard before the audio file cut out: You've known this for a while, haven't you? Your job has held you back. You've been waiting for permission. This is it. You know what to do.
Quit.
Callista had sounded so…compelling. Besides, my name on that list, just under Liam’s, whispered to me that I was already part of this story, whether I liked it or not.
I sent the audio file to Pyra, who ran an electronics shop called Forge & Frequency. No hello, no question, just the file and a warning. We used to be better at talking, but this wasn’t a talking kind of week.
That was easy. Walking into my boss’s office, however, was no small feat.
Rodney didn’t look up when I closed the door behind me. His eyes were on the half-eaten cup of yogurt in front of him, the kind with granola that always made a sad gravel sound when he stirred it.
“You quit by phone,” he said. “On a Sunday.”
“I know.”
“After your best friend died.”
“I know.”
He finally looked up, eyes tired but not unkind. “You wanna talk about it?”
I hesitated. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know what “it” was. Liam’s death? The way the world muted when I heard Callista speak? The tone I heard just before sleep?
“Not yet,” I said. “But I think I have something.”
“Honestly, Nico,” he said. “I figured you’d be halfway to freelancing from a van in the desert somewhere.”
I didn’t smile. I wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a joke or not.
“Let me write a profile. Callista Vale. Harmonia Global. Full access. I already have a line in—my old roommate’s cousin’s wife works in their HR department. Or used to. Anyway, I've got a name and a time. I just need a green light,” I said in one big breath.
Rodney leaned forward, all shoulders. He was already a big dude. But his oversized button-down made him larger. All his clothing was ill-fitting, most likely second-hand collared shirts and khakis like mine. But when that was draped around his clenched body, he was somehow built even more like a bull. “I thought we agreed Harmonia’s a puff piece factory,” he said. “They vet everything, they control their image, and they own half the media already. What are you expecting to get from this?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But something’s not right.”
Rodney paused. Granola crunched.
Then: “You know Liam came in here the week before he died, right? Told me the signal in his earbuds was breathing with him. Said he also had a feeling that something was wrong with Harmonia.”
Rodney’s voice stayed flat, but something in his eyes had receded, like he was remembering the memory too clearly.
“I just thought he was overworked,” he said. “I told him to take some time off. And then a week later, I got the phone call.”
He stirred the yogurt again, slower now. “I didn’t want to run his obituary. Because it feels like his story isn’t done. Not yet.”
That was the closest I’d ever heard him come to believing in the supernatural.
“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” he added. “But this thing you’re circling, it doesn’t end with a byline. It ends with your hands shaking and people thinking you’ve gone off the rails.”
I didn't answer. Because I already knew that. I felt the tremor in my fingers whenever I thought about her voice.
“I’m not giving you a front page,” Rodney said. “But if you come back with something clean, real—something that cuts past the PR bullcrap—I’ll read it. And I’ll fight for it.”
I nodded.
“And Nico?” he said, right before I turned to leave. “If you start hearing anything that isn’t there, don’t try to write through it. Just come see me.”
You Are Not the Signal - Part 3
There’s a company downtown that makes speakers. And followers. Welcome to Harmonia Global, where resonance isn’t a metaphor.
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