Paparazzi Flash

Like the persistent marine layer over the Pacific, a vague, unsettling melancholy clung to Seraphina. Mateo had seemed distant in the last few dreams, and his usual quiet intensity had been replaced by a deep fatigue that she couldn't quite place but could feel. She felt uneasy and lost in the carefully planned river of her own life.

Today was a haze of strategic exchanges. For a forthcoming awards show luncheon, stylists argued over the ideal shade of beige to represent "approachable sophistication" during a two-hour fitting session. She dutifully recited pre-approved anecdotes about her songwriting process in a brief, stilted interview for a teen magazine, making sure to carefully avoid mentioning cobblestone dreams or fingers smudged by charcoal. In the midst of her inner turmoil, everything seemed like static, a monotonous hum of artificiality.

The feeling grew stronger as she drove through LA traffic in the back of her black SUV between the interview and a soundcheck. They were traveling through a less glitzy area of the city, a neighborhood with independent stores, older, low-rise buildings, and real pedestrians—a rare sight in the areas she typically visited. She stared out the tinted window, the scenery a dull haze, until her gaze was drawn to a particular street corner. A faded mural with slight peeling at the edges that shows birds migrating. She had previously seen it, but where?

Mateo's voice echoed faintly from a dream memory, "It's near that place with the mural, the one with the birds flying south." In their shared dreamscape, he had been describing the location of a modest coffee shop that he frequently visited. In her mind's eye, this specific, real-world mural always seemed to be anchored close to the composite café from Chapter 7.

"The Daily Grind." The name appeared, ordinary and unremarkable, but all of a sudden it became meaningful. The navigation app that was always running on the driver's console indicated that they were only a few blocks away from their current location.

Her listlessness was pierced by a sharp and unavoidable impulse. She bent over. She called out to her security detail, who was sitting stoically in the front passenger seat as usual. "Liam," she said. "Go ahead and pull over. I'd like some coffee.

Liam looked back, his posture slightly stiffening but his expression remaining the same. "We have a strict timetable for soundcheck, Ma'am. Furthermore, this area lacks pre-clearance. Janice would rather only do business with authorized vendors.

Seraphina said, "I know," as she heard her own voice become unusually firm. The combination of the dream's melancholy, the fitting's oppressive beige, and the interview's hollowness resulted in an unexpected need for something genuine, no matter how tiny. "Five minutes will pass. Takeout. "That place there," she said, gesturing to the intersection where she knew "The Daily Grind" was. "Please, Liam."

Liam and the driver looked at each other tensely for a moment through the rearview mirror. Unplanned stops were strongly discouraged because they posed a security risk and were sure to result in a bad call from Janice. However, Seraphina's voice had a unique commanding edge, driven by an inexplicable sense of urgency. He nodded to the driver, short and clipped. "Pull over near the corner."

Inconspicuously, the SUV slid to the curb. With his hand hovering close to his jacket, Liam was out in an instant, looking around the street. He whispered, "Keep the engine running," to the driver. "Ma'am, I will accompany you. No more than five minutes.

The warm, slightly smoky air of Los Angeles welcomed Seraphina as she exited the air-conditioned capsule. It felt normal on the street. Nothing but the rumble of traffic, the chatter of onlookers, and the smell of exhaust fumes combined with something frying nearby—no velvet ropes, no security cordons. As its name implied, "The Daily Grind" was a rather ordinary storefront with somewhat faded lettering and a few little tables outside where students were hunched over laptops.

She pushed the door open and smelled the strong, rich scent of real roasted coffee, a far cry from the artificially scented spaces she was used to. There were mismatched chairs and local artwork tacked to the walls in the tiny, somewhat dilapidated interior. It was cozy, lived-in, and completely without pretense. Uncomfortably, it reminded her of the peaceful nooks and crannies of her dreams with Mateo.

A young, purple-haired barista looked up, a little taken aback but curious about her career. Liam stood discreetly by the doorway behind Seraphina, trying to appear unconcerned as he carefully inspected everyone and everything. Seraphina, wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap, felt suddenly uncomfortable and noticeable, so she ordered a plain black coffee.

She let her eyes wander about the cramped room while she waited. Local flyers were piled high on a bulletin board. On a table, a paperback with dog ears was left untouched. These everyday details, snippets of a life completely different from her own, felt oddly exotic. Did Mateo's world feel like this? This plain, unadorned truth? A sharp, intense ache of longing echoed inside her. She found herself looking at the faces of the few other patrons, including the students and an elderly man who was reading a newspaper, with a fanciful hope that she quickly smothered. He wouldn't be here, of course. This was not a dream; this was LA.

After setting the cup on the counter, the barista exclaimed, "Black coffee?"

Seraphina was reaching for it when she noticed some movement outside the window. A man who was passing by stopped, looked twice, and held up his phone, the lens aimed straight at her.

Liam also noticed it. "We must depart, ma'am. "Now." His tone was urgent and low.

As her adrenaline surged, Seraphina reached for the coffee. Another phone camera flashed from a different angle as they turned to face the door. She had been recognized by someone inside the café. The normalcy bubble burst.

Liam moved quickly, protecting her a little as they got out and went straight for the SUV that was waiting. The rear door was open for the driver. He was the familiar image of a paparazzo on a battered scooter, swerving through traffic toward them with the camera already up, as Seraphina slid inside. It must have been a call.

A delivery truck briefly blocked the paparazzo as Liam slammed the door shut and yelled instructions to the driver, who swiftly and smoothly pulled away from the curb.

Tension-filled silence fell over the car. Seraphina felt her heart racing. The coffee spilled over the lid as her hand shook a little. She hadn't even taken a sip. Already, Liam was whispering into his sleeve communicator, probably telling Janice about the incident. "An unplanned stop near Melrose and Fairfax. One scooter, paparazzi contact, and a potential civilian alert. Proceeding to the soundcheck location, subject secure.

Seraphina closed her eyes and rested her head back against the leather seat. When she had come into contact with her reality, the fleeting taste of anonymity, the faint echo of the authenticity of the dream world, had vanished immediately. The cage walls had slammed shut after five minutes of deviation, with the constant observers suddenly appearing. Later, Janice would call with a litany of vague charges about carelessness and brand management. Her security procedures would probably be further tightened.

The paparazzi chase and the botched coffee run served as a sharp reminder of her captivity. But there was also a stubborn ember of defiance mixed in with the frustration. That fleeting moment in the typical coffee shop, motivated by an unexplained attraction to something Mateo stood for, felt more important than any staged photo opportunity. It confirmed a developing realization: the dreams were no longer merely a means of escape. The only place she felt authentic was with them. She began to question how much longer she could live inside her gilded cage as the echoes of that reality began to seep into her waking world and push against its boundaries.