Chapter 2The Audience Voted for Me to Save the Lost Prince

I didn’t sleep well that night.

The pop-up text flickered in my mind:

[Checked it out! The Background Sis actress is Ainsley Rowe, a newbie, doesn’t even have an Instagram.]

[The key thing is she changed the plot! Landon was supposed to pass out tonight!]

[If she keeps bringing him food, will Sylvie never find him?]

[But Sylvie is already looking for him. Her P.I. will find Foundry Lane by next week at the latest.]

[I’m dying here! Can someone send a reminder to her?]

Wait. I sat bolt upright in bed.

The pop-ups can see me? They think I’m in a ‘show’?

Which meant… I, and Landon, were living inside a script, and they were the audience?

The realization was terrifying, making my hands and feet go cold.

But the next second, I saw a new comment:

[I wish the Background Sis could see the pop-ups. Tell her to move Landon out of the alley NOW!]

I took a deep breath, whispering toward the empty air: “I… I can see them.”

The pop-ups froze for three seconds.

Then, they erupted:

[???????]

[Did I just hear a voice-over???]

[No… she sounded like she was talking to us???]

[The Fourth Wall is shattered!!!]

I gathered my courage. “You mentioned someone named Sylvie. When will she find this place?”

The text scrolled at warp speed:

[HOLY CRAP! It's interactive!!!]

[What is this tech? VR captioning???]

[Next week! Wednesday at the latest! Sylvie’s private investigator is already in the West End!]

[Landon is staying in that abandoned electrical shed deep inside Foundry Lane!]

[Background Sis, save him! His stepmom set him up! His mother left him a 30% stake in the company!]

The information overload was dizzying.

But the core mission was clear: Save Landon.

The next day, I brought a double lunch, plus a duffel bag of my cousin’s old clothes.

When I found Landon, he was meticulously organizing salvaged cardboard, his movements painfully efficient.

“Landon.”

He turned. Seeing the bag in my hand, he paused.

“My mom went through my cousin’s closet. He outgrew all this. If you don’t mind…”

“I don’t mind.” He took the bag, his voice still faint. “Thank you.”

We sat together on a cracked concrete pipe, eating.

He seemed slightly better today; his hands weren't shaking as badly.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Seventeen.”

“Not in school?”

“...I was, dropped out in eighth grade.” He picked at his food. “The shelter only provides housing until you’re fifteen.”

A pop-up drifted by:

[He says it lightly, but he was actually kicked out because he aged out and had nowhere to go.]

[He hitchhiked back, thinking his dad would look for him, but saw Sylvie and her lover celebrating at the Pierce mansion.]

[He stood across the street all night, then just walked away.]

A heavy ache settled in my chest.

“If… if you could go back to school, would you?”

His utensil stopped halfway to his mouth.

After a long pause, he said quietly, “Yes.”

“I dream about it.”