Operation: Meet Cute (or Chaotic)

The information gathered from his cautious explorations became ingrained in Mateo, evolving from confusing shards into a provisional map. He had the Griffith Observatory viewpoint, which Seraphina had seen, suggesting that her home or regular presence was in the hills within that particular line of sight. He remembered the ordinary coffee shop, a concrete connection, if a shaky one. Additionally, he had Seraphina's urgent warning: exercise caution and restraint because the walls are watching you.

In order to defend his use of the public Wi-Fi at a small public library branch, he spent hours there drinking a single cup of machine coffee. He was looking for patterns, not rumors. High-profile artists' recording locations were occasionally mentioned in music production forums, and fan sites occasionally kept tabs on studio sightings. He compared the locations within the general vicinity suggested by the Observatory viewpoint with the names of studios renowned for their discretion and A-list clientele. One name kept coming up: 'Elysian Sound,' a cutting-edge but infamously private facility hidden down a canyon road in the heart of the Hollywood Hills, renowned for its strict security and famous clientele looking for seclusion. It matched the profile. It seemed conceivable.

It was a long shot, but it was the most solid lead he had based on deduction and internet whispers. He set out on the multi-bus trip towards the hills again the following day, armed with his sketchbook (his constant disguise) and a heart pounding with a sickening mixture of fear and hope. This time, the destination was a precise address that he entered into his phone's map rather than an ambiguous location.

The journey there was a challenge in and of itself. After the last bus route dropped him off on a main boulevard, he had to walk uphill for a long time along winding, narrow canyon roads without sidewalks, while cars driven by the clearly wealthy sped past him at a frighteningly high speed. He felt vulnerable, unwelcome, and keenly conscious that anyone watching would immediately label him as not belonging.

At last he found the Elysian Sound address. Set back from the road, protected by a high, smooth wall and dense, painstakingly landscaped foliage, it was more of a compound than a building. The driveway was blocked by a single, massive electronic gate. There were security cameras in plain sight, mounted inconspicuously. Only a covert intercom panel by the gate identified the studio; there was no sign. It exuded impenetrability and exclusivity.

Mateo felt his stomach tighten. It was this. The stronghold. How was he going to get past this? Seraphina's warning began to echo more loudly now. It seemed impossible to approach without setting off literal or symbolic alarms.

He couldn't just stare in awe. He took a small detour down the road and discovered a location on the other side that provided a diagonal view of the gate but was partially hidden by overgrown bougainvillea. His gaze was fixed on the studio entrance as he sat on the dusty curb and pretended to draw the canyon landscape in his notepad.

He waited. Only the occasional high-end car could be heard whispering by as an hour went by. Doubt started to creep in. Was this a pointless endeavor? Was she present at all? Was he simply sketching pointlessly as security cameras probably recorded his presence, like a delusional stalker? He considered his parents' fear and Rui's anxious skepticism. Perhaps they were correct. Perhaps the entire quest was insane.

Then he recalled the Griffith Observatory crown, the charcoal cat, the connection, and the shared dreams. It was authentic. Now that he was this close, breathing the same canyon air, he couldn't give up. He made himself pay attention, to watch.

An additional hour passed slowly. He was on the verge of calling off the day's vigil when there was a flurry of activity at the gate. Mateo had not noticed the small guardhouse until a man in a security uniform came out, talking into a wrist communicator. One of the sleek, black Escalades that Mateo knew belonged to 'her world' came up silently from inside the compound, lingering just inside the gate, a moment later.

Mateo gasped for air. In his throat, his heart jumped. There was a departing person.

Naturally, he drew back farther behind the bougainvillea and looked through the leaves. Silently, the gate started to slide open. From a side door of the main studio building, a figure appeared. She was partially hidden by the angle and distance, but based on her movements and the position of her shoulders, it was her. It must have been. With her hair pulled back and sunglasses covering her eyes, she wore a basic outfit consisting of jeans and a loose top. Compared to any dream or photograph, she appeared smaller, more normal, and infinitely more real.

Accompanied by two burly men—security, no doubt—she strode toward the waiting Escalade. One let her in through the back door.

It was this. The passing seconds seemed to drag on forever. Before his eyes, the opportunity was vanishing. She was boarding the vehicle. The gate stood open. As if to entice her back into the unbreakable bubble of her life, the Escalade's engine hummed.

Seraphina's cautionary tale echoed in his mind: Exercise caution! Avoid being careless! They'll see! However, the overwhelming, desperate need to close this last, unbridgeable gap outweighed the fear. to give the connection a physical form. To wonder if, standing here in the blazing California sun, she would recognize him—the boy from her dreams.

Security would quickly stop him if he tried to storm the gate. He couldn't just shout her name because that would only cause mayhem. Something else was needed. Something that only she could comprehend.

He glanced at his sketchbook. Out of sheer desperation, a wild and impetuous idea was born.

Mateo scurried up as Seraphina stopped, one foot inside the Escalade, turning to speak with one of the security guards one last time. The drawing he had done of the Griffith Observatory from her particular vantage point, the "crown on the hill," was torn from his sketchbook. Perhaps it had no significance to anyone else, but to her?

Holding the sketchbook page high, his heart thumping like a drum against his ribs, he emerged from behind the bougainvillea. He was now exposed, plainly seen by her, the driver, and the security personnel. He didn't yell. He simply stood there, alone on the canyon roadside, gesturing across the chasm with the charcoal drawing, a silent, frantic signal.

Time appeared to stop for a brief moment. The security officers stiffened and moved in his direction. The head of the driver turned. And in the middle of her sentence, Seraphina looked up, her eyes moving across the street and catching sight of the unanticipated person standing there with a piece of paper in her hand. Her sunglasses-covered eyes focused on the drawing. Let's get him.

The outcome was uncertain and could be either recognition, alarm, dismissal, or discovery. The door of the gilded cage was open for a moment; the tumultuous meeting was underway.