Hank stepped into the Blue Studio, the doors closing softly behind him, muffling the sounds of the con winding down outside. Inside, the atmosphere was something else entirely… warm, full of laughter, the electric hum of satisfaction lingering in the air like static.

  The final hours of the convention had passed, but here, among the staff and volunteers, the energy hadn’t faded. It had simply settled into something deeper: pride, relief, and a touch of wistful joy. These were the people who had made the con possible… the ones who had lived behind the curtain, unseen and uncelebrated.

  And now, they were glowing.

  Hank paused at the threshold for a moment, soaking it in… the sound of inside jokes being traded, cups clinking with celebratory soda, the shared smiles of people who knew they’d pulled something remarkable off.

  Then he spotted Lena.

  She turned just in time to see him and stepped away from a small knot of volunteers. Her heels clicked lightly against the floor as she closed the distance between them, eyes sparkling with something that wasn’t quite professional anymore.

  “Hank,” she said with genuine warmth, and without hesitation, leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

  “You’re right on time.”

  He met her eyes… and though they’d both silently agreed not to speak of that night, something flickered there. A hint of connection. A memory shared but unspoken.

  “Lena…” he started gently.

  But she shook her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. “I know,” she whispered. Then she turned to the room, voice rising with practiced authority.

  “Okay, everyone! Group photo time!”

  The motion around them shifted instantly. Chairs were pushed back, drinks set down, people started moving with familiarity and purpose. They already knew where to stand… like it had been rehearsed, or maybe they’d just done this many times before. The room rippled with excited chatter and the rustle of movement.

  Hank smiled to himself. These were the unsung heroes of the weekend, and now they were giving him the honor of capturing their moment.

  He pulled out his camera and took a few steps back. “So… group picture?” he asked, raising his voice above the buzz.

  Dozens of heads nodded.

  “Alright,” Hank said with a grin, squinting slightly to frame them all. “On the count of three… say ‘Comic Con’…”

  “COMIC CON!” they all shouted in unison, throwing arms around each other and lifting fingers in peace signs and goofy poses.

  Click. Click. Click.

  He took several shots, making sure the lighting was just right. The smiles were genuine. The emotion was real. A snapshot of the beating heart behind the spectacle.

  When he lowered the camera, he was still smiling. “Got it.”

  “Do you want me to send this to someone?” he asked, looking toward Lena. “Or should I just post it on my page?”

  “Send it to me,” she said, stepping back to his side. “I’ll make sure they all get a copy.”

  “Got it.” He carefully packed his camera into its padded case, ready to head out… but then Lena’s hand rested gently on his arm.

  “Wait… before you leave… we have something for you.”

  Two of the younger volunteers stepped forward, each carrying a large, colorful gift basket, their faces lit up with excitement.

  Lena reached in and pulled out the first item… a soft, black Comic Con t-shirt, hand-signed in silver and gold markers.

  “We all signed it,” one of the girls said. “For you.”

  Hank held it up slowly, scanning the autographs. Some included messages… ”Thanks for the magic!” “Best con photographer EVER!” “Come back next year or we riot!”

  A genuine smile bloomed on his face. “This is going on my wall,” he said. “Right next to the group photo.”

  Everyone around him cheered and laughed.

  Then came the real surprises.

  One by one, the girls began pulling items out of the baskets:

  A signed Funko Pop of Black Widow, with Scarlett Johansson’s looping signature glinting on the plastic.

  An 8x10 photo of Serenity, the iconic ship from Firefly, autographed by three cast members… each one marked in vivid ink across the starscape.

  A framed photo of Sylvester Stallone, muscles and all, complete with an old-school 80s signature and a “To Hank – Stay Strong” note.

  He barely had time to react to one before another was in his hands.

  And then came the final item.

  The girls carefully lifted it out from the bottom of the basket and placed it in his arms… a two-foot-tall collector’s model of Ahsoka Tano, delicately painted, beautifully detailed, and clearly expensive.

  Hank’s breath caught when he saw the base… Ashley Eckstein’s signature in sharp blue ink, perfectly preserved beneath a thin acrylic seal.

  He stared at it for a long moment, like it might vanish if he blinked too hard.

  “…How did you know?” he asked, voice lower, more affected than he meant.

  One of the girls smiled. “We found your old Facebook page.”

  Hank laughed, a little sheepishly. “That thing’s ancient.”

  “Apparently not too ancient to still have a pinned post about how Ahsoka was the ‘coolest and hottest alien in Star Wars.’” She grinned. “We figured you wouldn’t mind.”

  He looked down at the figure again, running a finger across the edge of the base. “No… not at all.”

  The room chuckled with him.

  And then, Lena stepped forward with one last item… an envelope, plain on the outside, his name written in silver script.

  He opened it carefully.

  Inside was a formal invitation… Comic Con, next year. His name printed in bold, followed by the words:

  “Featured Creator – Booth 2025. All access. Your space is waiting.”

  He looked up slowly, scanning the faces around him… faces filled with gratitude, excitement, and that quiet satisfaction of knowing they’d made someone feel seen.

  “I’ll be there,” Hank said, voice full. “Count on it.”

  And this time, they cheered just for him.

  ---

  The night air was cool and thick with the afterglow of celebration. Hank had stayed behind after the group photo, joining the convention crew for a final toast… paper cups clinking together, filled with cheap champagne and fizzy soda. It had been warm, loud, and full of laughter. Despite the exhaustion stitched into everyone’s posture, there was something beautifully whole about that moment. The con was over… but its pulse still echoed in every tired smile.

  Now, the crowd had dispersed. Only Hank and one of the volunteers remained as they walked side-by-side back to the hotel, one of the large gift baskets cradled carefully in the girl’s arms.

  “Thanks again for helping with this,” Hank said, motioning to the basket she carried. “Wasn’t expecting to walk away from the con with more loot than I showed up with.”

  The girl laughed. She had a lightness to her voice… clear, genuine. “Least I could do. You made a lot of people feel special this weekend.”

  She adjusted the basket slightly and looked over at him with a friendly smile. “So… are you leaving tomorrow?”

  Hank shook his head, stepping under the hotel’s archway. “Nah, I booked a couple extra nights. Thought I’d use the downtime to edit, tag people, maybe send out some of the bigger sets. You know… catch up before the storm of real life hits again.”

  “Smart,” she said, giving a nod of approval. “Most people just crash the moment it’s over and let the inbox fill up.”

  “I’ll probably crash after this basket hits the desk,” Hank added with a smirk.

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  As they passed through the softly lit lobby, Hank caught a flash of movement near the far window. A figure… familiar, Maerisa.

  She stood perfectly still for the briefest second, her silhouette framed by the gold-and-blue night outside, eyes meeting his for a heartbeat.

  Then she vanished… slipping out of view like a wisp of shadow.

  Hank’s breath caught, but only for a moment. He exhaled slowly, the corner of his mouth lifting.

  Of course she was watching.

  He glanced sideways at the girl still walking beside him, curious now. Was she part of it? Had Maerisa nudged this meeting somehow? Or was it just… normal?

  She seemed grounded. Real. Not otherworldly. But Hank had learned that not everything was as it seemed.

  “Sorry,” she said suddenly, breaking his thoughts. “I don’t think I ever introduced myself properly. I’m Michelle.”

  “Hank,” he replied with a smile. “Nice to meet you, Michelle. Officially.”

  The elevator chimed softly as they approached, its doors sliding open with a hushed whoosh. They stepped inside, and Hank pressed the button for the twelfth floor. The panel lit up with a small electronic chime.

  “So…” Michelle began, cradling the basket in her arms again, “Any plans besides photo editing? You know… last couple of days in the city and all?”

  Hank gave a small shrug. “Not really. This was my first time in San Diego, but I didn’t come for the sights. I came for the con… and I got everything I came for.” He paused, then added with a chuckle, “Maybe more than I expected.”

  Michelle smiled, clearly curious but respectful. “You should check out the Gaslamp District before you go. Great food. A little chaotic, but the vibe’s cool.”

  The elevator dinged softly as it reached the twelfth floor. The doors opened, revealing the quiet, carpeted hallway. Hank led the way out, walking a few doors down before stopping at his room… 1212.

  He slid his keycard through the lock. A quiet beep, a click. The door opened.

  He stepped aside. “After you.”

  Michelle hesitated… just slightly, but then stepped inside. Hank followed, leaving the door propped open with the security latch. A small gesture of politeness. Of safety. He wasn’t making assumptions.

  The room was cozy, dimly lit by a bedside lamp Hank had left on earlier. His second laptop glowed faintly from the corner desk, still open from his last session.

  “Wow,” Michelle said, setting the basket down beside the other. “You really cleaned up.”

  “Yeah,” Hank replied, looking around. “I wasn’t expecting the full hero’s sendoff.”

  She gave a soft laugh and leaned against the dresser, arms folded loosely. “You earned it, though. You did more than take pictures. You gave people moments they’ll keep forever.”

  Hank met her eyes. There was no flirtation there, no expectation… just honesty. Gratitude.

  “Thanks,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “That means a lot.”

  Outside the window, the city glowed beneath a purple twilight sky. Somewhere, far above, Maerisa watched.

  And though Hank didn’t know what tonight would bring… company or solitude, revelation or rest… he felt that quiet shift again in his chest.

  The magic wasn’t just in the photos.

  It was in the connections.

  Michelle crossed one ankle over the other, leaning against the dresser with a quiet kind of comfort. The room wasn’t much… just the warm golden spill of a single lamp, the soft hum of the air conditioning, the distant city sounds drifting up from the streets far below… but it felt still. After days of noise and movement and spectacle, the stillness was almost holy.

  Hank sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, the weight of the weekend slowly settling into his muscles. He was tired, yes… but not burned out. He felt good. Right, somehow.

  Michelle looked around the room, her gaze passing over the two baskets, the unopened bottle of whiskey on the desk, the soft clutter of SD cards and camera gear.

  “Okay,” she said, folding her arms. “Real talk. Out of the thousands of photos you took this weekend… do you actually enjoy editing them?”

  Hank smirked. “That’s a loaded question.”

  “I mean it,” she said, laughing. “You’ve gotta be looking at a week’s worth of clicking, color-correcting, cropping, and tagging.”

  He let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s a lot. But yeah… I do like it. There’s something therapeutic about it. It’s like putting together a puzzle, except every piece is someone’s best self.”

  Michelle tilted her head. “That’s a really cool way of putting it.”

  He looked up at her. “Well, people spend hours putting together these cosplays, sometimes weeks or months. Sewing, painting, gluing foam. They save up all year just to come here and be seen. The least I can do is make sure they’re seen in the best light.”

  Michelle smiled… wide and genuine. “See, that’s the kind of stuff I wish more con creators understood. It’s not just about numbers or going viral. It’s about making people feel seen.”

  “That’s the part that matters most,” Hank agreed.

  They lapsed into a comfortable silence for a moment. She walked over to the small table by the window and pulled out a chair, settling in with one leg tucked under the other.

  “So… this your first big convention?”

  “First as a featured photographer? Yeah,” he said, leaning back on his hands. “Before this, I mostly did nature shots. Portrait work for clients. A little editorial. But cosplay… this was new.”

  “And now?”

  He smiled. “Now I’m hooked.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, it’s addictive. I’ve been volunteering with this con since I was sixteen. Started handing out water bottles to guests in line, and now I help coordinate stage schedules.”

  “Let me guess,” Hank said. “You’re the kind of person who doesn’t like being on stage, but ends up running the show behind the scenes.”

  Michelle’s eyebrows lifted. “Exactly. That’s freaky-accurate.”

  He shrugged, grinning. “Takes one to know one.”

  The conversation flowed easily from there. They talked about San Diego… how it changed during con season, how the Gaslamp District became a completely different world for four days every year. She told him about her favorite taco spot that had a secret back patio no one ever found unless a local took them. He shared how his photography career started almost by accident, when he took pictures of waterfalls on an old Canon T3i and posted them online.

  “You know…” Michelle began, her voice thoughtful as she glanced around the hotel room again, eyes landing on the open laptop still glowing faintly on the desk. “You’re not just good with a camera. You’re good with people. Especially with kids.”

  Hank looked up at her from where he sat on the edge of the bed, curious. “Kids?”

  She nodded, smiling softly. “I watched you yesterday. I mean, sure, you got amazing shots of all those pro cosplayers and influencers… but it was the kids. The way they lit up after you worked with them. Like they weren’t just playing dress-up, you made them feel like they belonged… like they were on a movie poster or something.”

  Hank looked a little surprised, but flattered. “I mean… I try to meet them where they are, you know? Give them the moment.”

  Michelle leaned a little against the desk, her arms folding loosely. “You did more than that. One of those kids? Was my niece.”

  Hank blinked. “Wait… really?”

  She nodded. “Her mom… my sister, brought her on Saturday. She came home practically glowing. She told me you made her feel like a movie star.”

  A warm smile pulled at Hank’s lips. “That’s amazing. What was she dressed as?”

  “Snow White,” Michelle said, her eyes lighting with affection. “Well, her version of it. White dress, red ribbon in her hair. She’s six, and she designed the costume herself.”

  Hank sat up straighter, that detail jogging his memory. “Wait. Snow White with the glitter shoes?”

  “Yes!” Michelle laughed.

  “I remember her,” he said, already spinning toward the desk. He opened his notebook, flipping pages until he found the right entry… small, neat handwriting listing photo ID numbers and a few personal notes. “Yeah… I wrote down her mom’s request for the tag. Something like… ah, here… @HannahandFiona.”

  Michelle stepped closer, peering over his shoulder. “That’s them. Hannah’s my sister. Fiona’s my niece.”

  Hank looked up at her. “No way.”

  “I didn’t even realize until Fiona showed me the pictures her mom saved from your page,” Michelle said, shaking her head with a grin. “She couldn’t stop smiling.”

  Hank turned back to the laptop, his fingers flying across the touchpad. He navigated to the image folder, pulled up the photo IDs from his notes, and found them instantly… Fiona, mid-twirl in front of the green screen, eyes wide, smile radiant.

  “There she is.” He opened the first image full-screen.

  Michelle’s breath caught slightly. “Oh wow…”

  The photo was stunning… Fiona caught in a moment of childlike wonder, her hands raised delicately as if she were summoning woodland animals. The green screen had been edited into an enchanted forest, soft rays of sunlight filtering through the trees behind her, birds and butterflies dancing just at the edges of the frame.

  Hank smiled as he opened his editing program. “Well, I guess I know who I’ll start working on first.”

  Michelle’s hand gently touched his shoulder for a moment, and when he glanced up, she was watching the screen with quiet pride.

  “She’s gonna love that,” she whispered.

  “I hope so,” Hank said. “Every kid deserves to feel that kind of magic at least once.”

  The room fell into a comfortable silence again… just the faint click of Hank’s mouse, the hum of the AC, and the quiet sense of something shared. Something genuine.

  Michelle glanced at her phone, then back up at him. “Hey… I know you said you didn’t really have plans while you’re still in town, but if you want to get out for a bit tomorrow… I could take you to that taco place I mentioned. It’s in the Gaslamp. Great lunch spot.”

  Hank blinked. He hadn’t been expecting an invitation… not from her, not like that. There wasn’t pressure in her voice. No implied subtext. It was casual. Warm.

  “Yeah,” he said after a beat. “That sounds great.”

  “I’ll text you the address,” she said.

  Michelle smiled, then paused with a small, playful tilt of her head. “Actually… before I can text you anything, I’m gonna need your number first.”

  Hank let out a soft laugh, reaching into his pocket to grab his phone. “Right… good point.”

  She was already opening a new contact. “I feel like I’ve seen your handle on a hundred tagged posts this weekend, but I don't think anyone ever actually asks for your number.”

  He smirked as he rattled it off, and she typed quickly.

  “Got it,” she said. A moment later, his phone buzzed with a new message: Hey, it’s Michelle … Gaslamp plans pending.

  Hank looked at it and smiled. “Perfect,” he said, locking his screen. “Thanks.”

  “Cool,” she replied. “I’ll text you the name and time tomorrow morning once I check if my favorite place has outdoor seating available.”

  “Looking forward to it,” he said, genuinely.

  She gave him a soft nod, the kind that lingered in the room even after she turned to go.

  She stood then, stretching her arms over her head with a soft sigh. “I should head out. It’s late, and I promised my cat I’d feed her two hours ago.”

  Hank laughed as he stood too. “Cat mom duties come first.”

  “Always,” she said, gathering her hoodie from the back of the chair.

  He walked her to the door, holding it open as she turned to face him.

  “This was nice,” she said. “You’re easy to talk to, Hank.”

  “You too, Michelle.”

  She gave a playful salute, stepping out into the hallway. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Looking forward to it.”

  He closed the door gently behind her, then leaned against it for a moment, staring at the quiet room around him.

  Maerisa’s face flickered across his thoughts.

  So did Yuna’s.

  And Lena’s.

  And the twins.

  But this… this felt different.

  Grounded.

  Simple.

  Real.

  And something told him… whatever came next, he’d need a little bit of that.