“Mic check," Quinn said, fingers skating across the laptop. “Audio good. Framing good. Comments off until you say."
Hazel adjusted the angle so the bench took up most of the shot and her face only a sliver. “This isn't a spectacle," she said. “It's a class."
“Seminar title?" Maya asked, perched on a stool with a clipboard and a smirk. “*Closure Lab: Boundaries in the Wild*?"
“Accurate," Hazel said. She glanced at the clock: 11:59. “We go live at twelve. Five minutes. Then we lock the door."
“Copy," Quinn said. “If the circus arrives, I juggle knives."
Hazel took a breath, set her palms on cool metal, and nodded. Quinn tapped the key. A red “LIVE" dot blinked to life in the corner of the screen. The feed populated—names she didn't recognize, a few she did, little hearts that meant some
