As Amias exited the stage, riding the high of performance, he caught sight of his stats flickering in his peripheral vision:
Stage Presence: 61/100 → 62 [+1]
The brief surge of satisfaction was immediately drowned in the thunderous applause echoing through the venue. Unlike yesterday, tonight's crowd hadn't needed warming up—they'd been with him from the first bar, energy building steadily throughout his set until the final note hung in the air like electricity.
Zara met him at the edge of the stage, phone in hand, still recording. Her eyes glinted with a mixture of pride and something else.
"That was different," she said, voice barely audible over the crowd's continued cheering. "You owned them tonight."
Amias nodded, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. The performance high was still coursing through his veins, leaving his fingertips tingling and his breath shallow. "Felt different," he admitted.
She gestured toward the backstage area with her chin. "Come on. Your adoring public awaits."
"My what?"
Zara's smile widened as she turned her phone screen toward him. The Twitch app was open, chat scrolling rapidly with messages from 130 viewers.
jamal2k5: BRO THAT PERFORMANCE WAS MADDDD 🔥🔥🔥
londonsfinest: where can i find your music g??
trixie_beats: that second track needs to drop asap no cap
EmptyAnt: how long you been doing this fam??
"One hundred and thirty?" Amias couldn't keep the surprise from his voice as they pushed through the backstage door.
"Word spreads," Zara replied with a shrug that didn't quite hide her satisfaction.
The backstage area was little more than a narrow hallway with a few folding chairs and a small table holding water bottles and energy drinks. Amias grabbed a bottle, unscrewed the cap, and drained half of it in one long swallow before settling into one of the chairs. His black t-shirt clung to his torso, damp with sweat, but the adrenaline coursing through him made the discomfort irrelevant.
"You ready?" Zara asked, angling the phone camera toward him.
Amias took another swig of water, squared his shoulders, and nodded.
Zara propped the phone on the table, adjusting it to capture both of them in frame, then tapped the screen to switch from viewer mode to broadcaster.
"What's good, everyone," Amias said, his voice sliding into the confident cadence he used on stage. "Appreciate you all tuning in. That was the second night of performances, and I'm gassed about how it went."
The chat scrolled faster, messages blurring together.
kush_clouds: second track is FIRE
beatsbydexter: you're central cee's cousin right?
Q-Peace: neeeeed that second one on streaming ASAP
emilylikesmusic: your flowwww 🥵
"Yeah, I'm planning to drop that second track soon," Amias continued, responding to the flood of comments. "It's called Redemption and it's part of a project I'm working on."
Zara leaned into frame. "We're going to be livestreaming the entire process," she added. "Production, recording, everything. You'll see how it all comes together."
"For real," Amias nodded. "I want to bring you all into the journey. No filters, just the real process. We'll have exclusive content on Patreon too for those who want to go deeper—early access, behind-the-scenes, tutorials on how I make my beats, all that."
The chat continued to flow, questions and comments blending together. Amias tried to answer as many as he could, explaining his vision, discussing influences, breaking down his writing process.
Then a particular username caught his eye: Yourrage.
Yourrage: music's fire bro 🔥 but recommendation - don't just stick to music streams. reactions and gaming pull crazy numbers too. music streams are dope but won't grow as fast as main content
Amias's eyes flicked to the verification badge next to the name. He didn't immediately recognize who YourRage was, but the check mark suggested someone with a following.
"Appreciate that, uh... Yourrage," he said, nodding at the camera. "Thanks for stopping by. That's a solid recommendation about diversifying content."
He turned slightly toward Zara, keeping his voice low but still audible for the stream. "He's verified. Must be big."
Zara's eyes widened slightly as she glanced at the chat, but she maintained her composure. "Good advice, honestly," she said. "Variety is key."
Amias nodded, turning back to the camera. "Yeah, that's something to think about for sure. Right now I'd need to get a proper computer setup for gaming streams and all that, but I'm definitely open to expanding once we get rolling."
The conversation continued for another twenty minutes, Amias discussing his creative process and future plans while Zara occasionally interjected with clarifications or additional details. Throughout it all, a comfortable chemistry flowed between them—small laughs, casual touches, moments of synchronized thought that betrayed a deeper connection than mere business associates.
As the stream neared its conclusion, Amias leaned forward. "Alright, I gotta head out, but we'll be back with more content soon. Follow the channel to stay updated, and I appreciate all of you for tuning in." He paused, then added with a grin, "London to the world, yeah?"
Zara ended the stream, her smile widening as she checked the final viewer count. "One hundred and fifty-eight by the end," she reported. "Not bad for a first try."
"Not bad at all," Amias agreed, stretching his arms above his head to release the tension in his shoulders. "The Yourrage thing was unexpected."
Zara nodded, tucking her phone into her pocket. "The algorithm works in mysterious ways." Her gaze lingered on him a moment longer than necessary. "You were good tonight. Not just the performance—the way you handled the stream. Natural. Authentic."
"Just being myself," Amias said with a shrug, though the compliment warmed him more than he cared to admit.
"Well, keep doing that," she replied, gathering her bag. "They love it and so do I."
Their eyes met, an electric moment suspended between them. Before either could act on it, a knock on the door frame interrupted.
"Fifteen minutes until we need the space," a venue worker called out.
Zara stood, clearing her throat. "We should get going anyway. You're dropping me home, right?"
"Yeah," Amias nodded, gathering his things. "Let's move."
—
Julian Barnes massaged his temples, the fluorescent lights of New Scotland Yard's incident room doing nothing to help his growing headache. A week of raids, arrests, and interrogations had left her department stretched thin, but the results were substantial: fifteen members of the 12Anti and CMG gangs now in custody, with charges ranging from drug distribution to murder.
"Taiwo's statement," Detective Sergeant Owens said, sliding a file across the desk. "It's a gold mine."
Barnes flipped through the pages, eyebrows rising. "He's naming everyone, isn't he?"
"Singing like a canary," Owens confirmed. "Ever since his mate Ekane went missing, he's been terrified he's next. Keeps going on about someone called Amias."
"Amias Mars?" Barnes clarified. "The musician?"
"Same one. Central Cee's cousin, apparently."
Barnes tapped his pen against the desk thoughtfully. "No direct evidence linking him to anything yet, but his name keeps coming up."
"Dyno's death was a blessing in disguise," Owens commented. "Gang enforcer killed by a civilian with no connections. The kid Jaime will walk—clear case of self-defense—and we've got one fewer psychopath on the streets."
"And one very interesting thread to pull," Barnes added, pointing to a section of Taiwo's statement. "Let's bring in this Amias character. Just for a chat."
—
4:47 PM.
Amias pulled up to a tea shop in Ladbroke Grove, the BMW's engine purring smoothly as he navigated into a parking space.
As he gathered his backpack from the passenger seat, headlights flashed in his rearview mirror. Two unmarked vehicles pulled in behind him, blocking his exit. Four plainclothes officers emerged, moving with practiced efficiency.
"Amias Mars?" a man called, approaching his window.
Amias rolled it down, keeping his expression neutral. "That's me."
"DI Barnes, Metropolitan Police. We'd like you to come with us to answer some questions."
Amias felt his heartbeat quicken, but his face betrayed nothing. "Am I under arrest?"
"No," Barnes replied. "But we would appreciate your cooperation."
System, am I at risk here?
"Risk assessment: Minimal. No direct evidence exists linking you to criminal activity. Maintain calm demeanor. Exercise right to silence when necessary. Do not volunteer information."
The reassurance steadied him as he slid into the back of the police car. He had nothing to worry about. Nothing concrete linked him to any crimes, and he'd been careful to keep it that way.
At the station, they led him to a waiting area by the wall. As he stood there, another young man nearby suddenly perked up, recognition dawning on his face.
"Yo, Amias? Amias Mars?" the guy whispered excitedly. "Bro I was at you performance earlier, I love your tune 'I'm Tryna.' You're Central Cee's cousin, right? That's mad!"
Amias nodded curtly, not engaging further. Fan interactions were the last thing he needed right now.
"Amias!"
He turned to see his mother rushing toward him, still in her hospital scrubs. Adrianna Mars's face was etched with worry, her normally calm demeanor replaced by maternal anxiety.
"Mum, what are you doing here?" he asked as she embraced him.
"They called me," she whispered fiercely. "Said they were bringing you in for questioning. What's happening?"
Amias squeezed his mother's hand. "It's okay. I promise there's nothing that will put me in jail."
Not technically a lie. He hadn't left evidence—nothing that could be proven in court, at least.
—
Meanwhile Detective Inspector Julian Barnes leaned back in his chair, reviewing his notes one last time before the interview. Across from him, his partner, Detective Sergeant Maya Patel, tapped her pen against a stack of documents.
"What do you make of this one?" Barnes asked, looking up.
Patel shrugged, her expression thoughtful. "Hard to say. On paper, he's clean—no prior arrests, a few cautions, but nothing too bad. School records show impeccable grades. But Taiwo's statement puts him right in the thick of it."
Barnes nodded slowly. "The timing checks out, though. The night Dyno got shot by that Jaime kid, the same night Ekane went missing, same night as the warehouse fires in Harlesden. Too many coincidences."
"But no physical evidence connecting Mars to any of it," Patel reminded him. "And that cousin of his—Central Cee—has a lot of pull. Press would have a field day if we brought charges without solid proof."
"I don't give a damn about his cousin or the press," Barnes replied, though they both knew that wasn't entirely true. The department was under enough scrutiny already. "I just want to know if this kid's involved in what happened."
A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. A uniformed officer poked his head in. "Ready?"
Barnes nodded. "Bring them in."
Moments later, Amias Mars entered the room, his mother Adrianna close behind him. Despite the circumstances, Amias carried himself with a quiet confidence that immediately struck Barnes as unusual for a seventeen-year-old brought in for questioning. No slouching, no averted gaze, no nervous fidgeting. Just steady, measured movements as he took the offered seat.
His mother, still in hospital scrubs from her nursing shift, sat beside him, back straight, chin lifted slightly in defiance. The protective stance of a lioness with her cub.
"Thank you for coming in, Mr. Mars," Barnes began, keeping his tone neutral. "As I explained this is just a preliminary conversation. You're not under arrest, and you're free to leave at any time."
"I understand," Amias replied, his voice calm and clear.
"And you've chosen not to have a solicitor present?"
"That's correct."
Barnes nodded, switching on the recording equipment. "Interview commencing. Present are Detective Inspector Julian Barnes, Detective Sergeant Maya Patel, Amias Mars, and Adrianna Mars, attending as appropriate adult. Mr. Mars, you understand that you do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Amias replied simply.
Adrianna shifted in her seat. "I'd like to know exactly why my son is here," she said, her voice carrying the hint of a Caribbean accent beneath the London cadence. "He's done nothing wrong."
"Mrs. Mars, we're just trying to get clarification on some information that's come to our attention," Patel explained smoothly. "As we said, Amias isn't under arrest."
"Then why—"
"It's alright, Mum," Amias said quietly, placing a hand on her arm. His eyes met hers, conveying something unspoken. "Let's hear what they have to say."
Barnes watched the interaction with interest. The boy was remarkably composed—too composed, perhaps. He noted it mentally before continuing.
"Amias, are you familiar with someone by the name of Dyno?"
A flicker of recognition crossed Amias's face, but nothing more. "I've heard the name around the estate. Don't know him personally."
"What about last week Saturday night? Were you aware of an incident involving Dyno?"
"I heard a few things," Amias replied carefully. "Apparently he got shot."
Barnes nodded, watching Amias's face closely. "And where were you on that Saturday night?"
"I was at a party in Ladbroke Grove until about midnight," Amias answered without hesitation. "Then I went home and found my apartment had been broken into. My friend Zane was there—he'd been stabbed. The ambulance, and the police came, then I spent my morning at my uncle's house. You have the report, I assume."
"We do," Barnes confirmed. The break-in had been documented by responding officers. "How is your friend doing?"
"He just woke up on Thursday, my birthday actually," Amias said, a shadow crossing his face. "He's getting discharged today."
Patel made a note. "That's good to hear."
Barnes shifted gears. "Do you know someone named Ekane Foster?"
Again, that careful consideration before answering. "Yes. We were friends, but I haven't seen him in a while."
"How long is 'a while'?"
"A week, at least," Amias replied.
"What about Taiwo Adeyemi?"
"I know him. Haven't spoken to him recently either."
Barnes leaned forward slightly. "From what Taiwo told us, you were quite active last Saturday."
"Like I said, I was at a party," Amias repeated evenly. "Then I went home to the break-in situation."
"Yes, we've confirmed that," Barnes nodded. "But according to Taiwo, you were involved in some other activities that evening as well."
Adrianna tensed beside her son. "What is he suggesting?"
Barnes kept his eyes on Amias. "Taiwo claims that you were involved in a confrontation in Harlesden. He says you killed someone in the woods near Wormwood Scrubs, and that you know who killed his friend Ekane— along with some other inviduals named Apannii and Kevin."
The room fell silent. Adrianna's breath caught audibly, her hand gripping the edge of the table. But Amias's expression barely changed—just a slight widening of the eyes, a subtle tightening around the mouth.
"Really?" he said finally, his voice level. "That's... quite a story."
"Is it just a story?" Patel pressed.
Amias leaned back in his chair, composure intact. "Detective, those are serious accusations. If someone was killed in the woods, and if Ekane is dead, then you should absolutely investigate that thoroughly."
"We intend to," Barnes assured him. "But right now, we're asking about your involvement."
"I have no interest in killing anyone," Amias stated firmly. "I'm focused on my music career. I just performed two nights in a row at venues in London. I'm gaining traction on streaming platforms. Why would I throw that away?"
Barnes studied him. The denial was expected, but there was something in the way Amias spoke—a certainty, a clarity that was unusual in their typical interviews with teenagers.
"If Taiwo is shifting blame," Patel interjected, "why onto you specifically?"
Amias considered the question, then shook his head with a slight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I can't speak to his motivations. But think about what you're suggesting. For his story to be true, I would have had to kill someone in the woods, then somehow know about two other murders I wasn't present for, all while discovering my stabbed friend in my apartment—a fact you've confirmed with your own officers."
Barnes had to admit the point would be valid from Amias' perspective. But they were aware of a completely different timeline, but then again, his assumption of each event occuring within a limited timespine was either a feign of ignorance or the kid truly didn't know what happened.
"Unless," Amias continued, "you're suggesting I'm some kind of criminal mastermind orchestrating multiple murders across London in a single night?" He shook his head again. "I'm flattered by the dramatic imagination, but my life isn't a crime film."
The hint of dry humor in his voice caught Barnes off guard. Despite himself, the detective felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Charisma: 80/100 > 81 [+1]
"No one's suggesting you're a mastermind," he said, regaining his professional demeanor. "But young men in London get pulled into dangerous situations all the time. Sometimes without fully understanding what they're getting into."
"I understand exactly what I'm getting into with my music," Amias countered. "And that's where my focus is."
The interview continued for another forty minutes, with Barnes and Patel probing different angles, trying to find inconsistencies in Amias's account. But the young man remained steady, never contradicting himself, never showing the telltale signs of deception they were trained to spot.
As the questioning wound down, the atmosphere in the room had shifted subtly. Barnes found himself genuinely curious about Amias's budding music career, and Patel had visibly relaxed her initially suspicious posture.
"Speaking of the party," Amias said as the formal questioning concluded, "there was this guy there—Jaden—who kept trying to flex on everyone. Kept saying if he was a rapper like me, he'd be 'iced out instantly.'" Amias mimicked an exaggerated pose. "Meanwhile, his Rolex had the wrong font on the date window. Everyone could see it was fake, but no one wanted to embarrass him."
Barnes laughed despite himself. "Always the ones shouting the loudest, isn't it?"
"Every time," Amias agreed with a genuine smile.
As they prepared to leave, Barnes caught Amias by the elbow, his expression turning serious again. "Listen, I'm going to give you some advice, whether you want it or not. Stay away from gangs. Focus on your music. You've clearly got talent and opportunities most kids in your position would kill for."
"I intend to," Amias assured him.
"And watch your friends closely," Patel added. "This Taiwo was willing to potentially put you in jail to save himself. Those aren't the kind of connections that lead anywhere good."
Amias nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "I appreciate the concern. And the advice."
As they watched Amias and his mother leave the station, Barnes turned to Patel. "What do you think?"
She sighed, gathering her notes. "I think Taiwo's credibility just took another hit. Either the boy's an exceptional liar, or..."
"Or Taiwo's throwing names around hoping something sticks," Barnes finished. "Maybe both."
"So we're back to square one with the Ekane disappearance?"
Barnes nodded grimly. "For now. But I'll be keeping an eye on young Mr. Mars. There's something there... I just can't quite put my finger on it."
Outside in the parking lot, Adrianna finally released the breath she'd been holding since they left the interview room. "Amias, what is going on? Those accusations—"
"We already spoke about this Mom, you know what I did on that day," Amias interrupted gently. "But I already said there is no chance of me going to jail and you know I wouldn't lie to you."
She searched his face, maternal instinct warring with desperate hope. "Promise me you're no longer involved in anything dangerous."
Amias met her gaze steadily. "I promise with all my heart that nothing is going to put me in jail, I have no interest in selling weed, I am far away from anything dangerous. I'm focused on the music. On building something that will get us both out of the estate for good."
It wasn't exactly the promise she'd asked for, but the sincerity in his voice seemed to reassure her. She nodded, pulling him into a tight embrace. "I can't lose you," she whispered against his shoulder. "Not after everything we've been through."
"You won't," Amias assured her, returning the hug. "I'm not going anywhere."
As they separated, a notification chimed on his phone. A message from Zara:
Studio Time!!!
Amias smiled slightly, tucking the phone back into his pocket. "I need to get to the studio," he told his mother. "New track in the works."
"Go," she said, waving him off. "Just... be careful, yeah?"
"Always," he promised, kissing her cheek before heading to his car.
The studio awaited. And after that, who knew? London—then the world, perhaps.