lii. WEMBLEY.
February 20, 2018. | Third Person POV.
London, England.

The soft chime of her phone alarm pulled Sedona from sleep at exactly 9:00 a.m. She blinked against the soft London light filtering through the hotel curtains, stretching out the remnants of last night's nerves. Today was the day—Wembley.

No matter how many stages she'd graced, the weight of this one felt different. Historic. Monumental. Hers.

She spent the morning in quiet preparation, eating a light breakfast while revisiting her setlist.

Walking into Wembley Arena, Sedona couldn't help but pause, taking in the vast space. Even empty, the energy was undeniable. This was Wembley. A place where legends performed. A place she had dreamed about since she was a kid. And now, it was her turn.

As soon as she held the mic, a familiar energy wrapped around her—this was her domain. The speakers hummed as her voice poured through them, filling every inch of Wembley's legendary space. She moved through each song with precision, making mental notes on adjustments, gauging the way her vocals bounced back at her.

But excitement aside, Sedona was locked in. Rehearsals weren't just a run-through for her—they were about getting everything right. And if that meant running the same transition four times in a row or making the band restart a song just because the tempo felt slightly off, then so be it.

Dressed in black sweats, classic Chucks, and an oversized DAMN. merch tee, with her curly fro wild and free, she moved across the stage, laser-focused.

"Nah, nah, nah—hold up. The bass needs to come in softer on that intro. We're not kicking down the damn door—we're gliding in," She directed, her tone serious but never mean.

The bassist nodded, adjusting accordingly.

"C'mon, from the top," She signaled, stepping back.

They ran it again. And again. And again.

At one point, her drummer, Jay, groaned dramatically. "Sedona, I swear, if we run this one more time, my sticks might file for divorce."

She smirked, hands on her hips. "Then you better show 'em some love and get it right, huh?"

Laughter spread through the team, but everyone knew the drill—Sedona was relentless. Not because she wanted to be difficult, but because she cared. Because Wembley deserved perfection.

By the time they wrapped rehearsal, Sedona exhaled, pressing her hands to her knees. Wembley. It wasn't just another show—it was history. And it wasn't until minutes before she was set to go on that the weight of that realization truly hit her.

After soundcheck, instead of heading straight back, she wandered the stadium, taking in every corner. The weight of the venue, the history embedded in its walls, sent a thrill through her. Michael performed here. Bey shut this place down. And tonight, it was her name on the marquee.

—

The crew bustled around backstage, adjusting final details, and ensuring everything was set for her performance. Excitement buzzed in the air. But as the countdown to showtime began, something shifted inside her.

Minutes before she was set to go on, a sudden wave of panic hit. It was suffocating, a weight pressing against her chest, making it hard to breathe. She had done this a million times before, but this time felt different. This was Wembley. The pressure, the history, and the magnitude of it all crushed her at once.

She slipped away from the chaos, finding a quiet corner, her back against the cool wall as she tried to steady her breathing. It wasn't working. Her breaths came too fast, too shallow.

Not now. Not here.

But the room was spinning. Her heart pounded so hard it drowned out the noise outside.

Somewhere in the distance, voices called her name. First, it was Monica. Then Dave. Then Kendrick, his voice sharper, urgent. She needed to escape, somewhere and fast.

Monica was frantic. "Where the hell is she?!"

Panic laced her voice as she spun in circles, scanning the dressing room like Sedona might materialize out of thin air. But the room was empty—no trace of her. 

She bolted toward the side stage. Nothing. 

"We have less than fifteen minutes!" Monica nearly shrieked, yanking out her phone, fingers trembling as she dialed Sedona's number for the fourth time. Straight to voicemail. "C'mon Sedona."

The crew exchanged wary glances, whispering. The band fidgeted with their instruments, trying to keep the energy up, but the tension was creeping in. 

This wasn't like Sedona. She was always here, always ready. 

Kendrick had been watching quietly from the side, jaw tight. Something felt off. 

Then, it hit him. 

He turned abruptly, ignoring Monica's questions as he strode down a dimly lit hallway, past the noise, past the lights—until he found her. Tucked into a corner. Crouched down, hands gripping her knees so tightly her knuckles had turned white. Eyes unfocused. Blank. Staring at nothing.

"Sedona," He called gently, stepping toward her, careful, measured.

She didn't blink. Didn't move. Just inhaled sharply through her nose like she was trying to hold herself together by sheer force of will.

The rise and fall of her breath was too fast. Too shallow.

When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet but tight.

"I can't—" Her jaw tensed. "Ninety-nine percent of the time, my mind is on go mode, autopilot when it comes to this, but it just hit me. And fuck."

Her breath shuddered. She uncurled one hand, staring at her trembling fingers.

"This is Wembley. Do you know how many people have stood on that stage? Prince. Whitney. Michael. Beyoncé."

Her voice cracked.

"And now me? Me?"

A sharp, almost bitter laugh escaped her. "This ain't some arena tour in the States. This is history. This is—"

Her words faltered.

Her chest rose and fell too quickly. She wasn't just doubting. She was unraveling.

Kendrick exhaled, grounding himself before speaking.

"You think anybody in that crowd is expecting you to fail?" His voice was steady. Low.

Silence.

"Exactly." He crouched down, eye level now, his gaze holding hers even as she tried to look away.

"You built this, Sedona. Ain't nobody in there that didn't pay to be in your presence tonight. You own that stage. You always have. Wembley ain't shit but a bigger venue. You show up, you do what you always do, and you shut that shit down. Period."

Her jaw clenched like she was trying to believe him.

He softened just slightly, reaching out, and lifting her chin. His touch was warm, and grounding.

"You belong here, ma. You hear me?"

Her eyes finally, finally met his.

A slow inhale. A slow exhale.

Still unsteady. But stronger.

Finally, she nodded.

Kendrick stood, extending a hand. No hesitation this time—she took it. 

His grip was firm as he pulled her to her feet. As if, for this moment, he was holding her together. 

She rolled her shoulders back, inhaled one last deep breath, and then— 

"Let's go make history."

—

By the time showtime arrived, the crowd was deafening before she even stepped onstage. When the lights finally hit her, she took a deep breath, soaking in the moment before launching into her set with pure, unstoppable energy. Every ounce of doubt, fear, or hesitation evaporated.

Dressed in a show-stopping outfit, she owned every inch of the stage. Hit after hit, the audience followed her lead, singing, swaying, and vibing along. Midway through, she paused, scanning the crowd before smirking.

"Do we have any Jamaicans in the audience tonight?" She called out.

A wave of cheers erupted, strong and proud. She chuckled, nodding.

"Love that. Big ups to Jamaica. So this next song... I know plenty of us grew up hearing this 'cause our moms would play it while cleaning on Sundays—or just vex about their ex."

Before she even finished speaking, the audience already knew. The opening chords of You Don't Love Me (No, No, No) by Dawn Penn rang out, and the energy in the arena shifted instantly. Sedona's expression grew intense as she sank into a kneel, gripping the mic as she sang like she felt every word.

And then, just when the crowd thought it couldn't get any better, she transitioned into Saddest Day of My Life by Wayne Wonder. The arena erupted—fans throwing their hands up, singing every lyric at the top of their lungs. Sedona fed off their energy, making eye contact, vibing with them like they were all part of the same moment.

When her set finally ended, she made her way backstage, still buzzing. Still high off the energy. Nothing could get better than this.

The rest of Wembley passed like a cloud bursting with excitement—electric, fast-moving, and unforgettable. Kendrick's set was beyond incredible, his energy rippling through the massive crowd like a shockwave. Every verse, every beat hit with precision, the stadium hanging onto his every word. 

Sedona was still reeling from her performance, the high of it buzzing beneath her skin. Even as she stood backstage, watching Kendrick command the stage with ease, she could still hear the echoes of the audience singing her lyrics back to her. The gravity of it hadn't fully sunk in yet—Wembley. She had just performed at Wembley. 

Between sets, the backstage was alive with celebration—team members hugging, laughing, buzzing with adrenaline. Monica kept squeezing her hand, whispering, "Do you get what you just did?!" while Dave was already talking about how they'd have to top this somehow. 

But Sedona? She was just existing in it, letting the moment settle into her bones. The weight of history, the sheer magnitude of the night, and the fact that she had delivered—it was all there, alive in her chest. 

And when Kendrick finally came off stage, drenched in sweat but grinning, he pulled her in without a word. No congratulations are needed. No over-explaining. Just them, breathing in the victory together.

And that's when she heard a familiar voice.

"We meet again," Ashley Smith from the BBC greeted, an amused smile on her lips.

Sedona grinned, still catching her breath. "Ashley! You enjoyed that?"

Ashley let out a breath, shaking her head. "Girl... enjoyed is an understatement. You just turned Wembley inside out."

Sedona chuckled, wiping sweat from her brow. "Had to. It's Wembley, man... nothing but the best. Although I was nervous as hell earlier."

Ashley laughed, shaking her head. "I swear, you perform like someone's keeping score."

Sedona smirked, still coming down from the high of her set. "They are. Me."

Ashley nodded knowingly. "Perfectionist much?"

Sedona shrugged, grabbing a bottle of water from the table behind her. "Listen, if I can sit at home and watch a performance back without cringing at least once, I failed." She took a sip, then waved a hand. "But enough about my neuroses. What's up? You covering the show?"

Ashley grinned. "That, and I was hoping to steal you for a quick interview."

Sedona glanced at Kendrick, who stood a few feet away, leaning against the wall with a proud smirk. He tilted his head as if to say It's your call.

She turned back to Ashley. "I got a few minutes before I gotta de-sweat myself. Let's do it."

Ashley wasted no time setting up her mic. "Alright, Sedona, Wembley Arena—your first time headlining here. How does it feel?"

Sedona sighed, shaking her head like she still couldn't believe it. "Man... it's surreal. I've had so many 'pinch me' moments in my career, but this? This was one of those big, circle-it-in-red, 'if I don't do anything else, I gotta do this' goals." She grinned. "And it lived up to every expectation."

Ashley smiled. "You could feel how much you wanted this. Even in rehearsals, I heard you were running folks into the ground."

Sedona let out a loud laugh. "Listen, listen—first of all, they're alive." She shot a playful look toward her band members, who were slumped on a couch nearby. "Mostly."

Jay, her drummer, lifted a tired hand. "Barely."

Sedona giggled. "Nah, but for real, I just care a lot. People spent their hard-earned money to be here, to see me, Kendrick, and I never wanna cheat them. Plus, it's Wembley—I had to show out."

Ashley nodded. "And show out you did. Let's talk about that dancehall moment. You had the entire arena losing their minds with You Don't Love Me and Saddest Day of My Life."

Sedona beamed. "Man, I grew up on those records. My mom used to blast them on Saturdays—cleaning, cooking, vibing. So to sing them here, and hear the crowd sing them back? Whew." She placed a hand on her chest. "That was special."

Ashley leaned in. "So does this mean a little dancehall influence on the next album?"

Sedona pursed her lips, eyes twinkling. "Now, why would I ruin the surprise?"

Ashley laughed. "Fair enough. Last question—how's the rest of the tour looking?"

Sedona stretched her arms with a groan. "Exhausting, but amazing. We got more EU stops, then Paris which I'm so excited about, then back to the States. But right now? I just wanna eat." She turned toward Kendrick. "You got me, right?"

Kendrick chuckled. "Of course. But don't act like you didn't already send a list of what you wanted hours ago."

Ashley raised a brow. "Oh? What's the post-show meal?"

Sedona grinned. "Listen. I don't care where I am in the world, after a show, I need two things—good pasta and a stupid amount of cheesy garlic bread."

Ashley laughed. "Simple, yet elite."

Sedona shrugged. "It's a system."

With that, they wrapped the interview, and Sedona let herself breathe for the first time that night. She had done it. Wembley was hers. 

And tomorrow? She'd do it all over again.

As the interview wrapped, Sedona leaned back against the wall, finally letting the exhaustion settle in. Her body ached in the best way possible—Wembley had taken from her, but she'd given right back.

Kendrick stepped closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "You killed that shit."

Sedona smirked, tilting her head up at him. "I know."

He chuckled, slipping an arm around her waist. "Humble, I see."

She nudged him playfully. "I'll be humble tomorrow. Tonight? I'm basking."

Just then, Monica and the rest of her team flooded into the backstage lounge, their energy still buzzing from the show.

"Man, what?!" Jay shouted, throwing his hands up. "Sedona, you had them people in a trance!"

Another dancer pointed at her, eyes wide. "I swear to God, the way people started screaming—"

A knock at the door pulled her attention. One of the tour assistants peeked in. "Sedona, we got a special delivery for you."

Sedona frowned slightly, exchanging a glance with Monica before heading to the door. Kendrick had just stepped out for a moment, so she had no clue what this could be.

The assistant wheeled in a massive bouquet—roses, orchids, lilies, all in deep, rich hues of crimson, burgundy, and burnt orange. The scent alone was intoxicating, wrapping around her like silk.

"I wonder who this could be from?" She mused, plucking the card from the petals.

"Secret admirer?" Someone quipped, earning a few chuckles.

Sedona flipped the card open.

"Wembley. A goal achieved. So proud of you. Here's to more history. — K."

Her breath hitched for just a second. Just a flicker of emotion before she smoothed it over. But that warmth? That quiet, unmistakable feeling of being seen, and celebrated? It was still there.

Right on cue, Kendrick reappeared, standing in the doorway like he'd never left.

Sedona could only smile at him, a knowing look passing between them.

He smirked, hands in his pockets.

She exhaled, shaking her head. In a quiet tone, she could only roll her eyes then. "You're so extra."

Kendrick lifted a shoulder. "You love it."

And he wasn't wrong.

The room had gone quiet, everyone watching with knowing smiles. Monica clutched her chest. "Oh my God, my heart."

Jay groaned. "Man, y'all make the rest of us look bad."

Sedona rolled her eyes but couldn't stop the grin spreading across her face. She tucked the card into her pocket, turning back to the assistant.

Sedona rolled her eyes but couldn't stop the grin spreading across her face. She tucked the card into her pocket and turned back to the assistant. "Okay, where's my food, though?"

Laughter erupted around the room as the tour staff rolled in trays of pasta, cheesy garlic bread, and other post-show essentials.

As everyone dug in, Sedona sank onto the couch beside Kendrick, a soft smile resting across her lips.

"Wembley," She murmured, still in awe.

He glanced in her direction. "Wembley."

And with that, Sedona let herself be—no rehearsals, no overanalyzing, no chasing perfection.

Just a girl who had just conquered one of the biggest stages in the world, sitting beside the man who made every win feel even sweeter.

—

After the high of Wembley, Sedona wasn't ready to call it a night. The adrenaline still surged through her veins, buzzing like electricity, and as they piled into the sprinter, she blurted out, "I wanna go out. See what London's nightlife is all about." 

Kendrick, seated beside her, barely looked up from his phone. "You do that." 

She turned to him, pouting slightly. "You don't wanna come?" 

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You know damn well that's not my scene." 

From across the sprinter, Monica snorted. "Oh, you thought he was about to put on a fit and hit the club? Girl, please." 

Sedona grinned. "I hoped, okay? That's different." 

Dave, lounging in the seat next to Monica, took a sip of his water before shaking his head at her. "You got your answer, and you still tryna debate? Let that man stay huddled up in his suite." 

Sedona folded her arms and shot Kendrick a teasing look. "But you're missing out on an experience. You could dance a little, have fun, live a little." 

Kendrick finally looked up at her, his smirk lazy. "You talkin' like I don't got fun. I just don't need a club for it." 

Sedona opened her mouth to argue, but Monica held up a hand. "Nope. He's locked in. You lost, babe." 

Sedona huffed before shrugging. "Fine. I'm still going." 

"I know," Kendrick said, amusement laced in his tone. "Go wild. Just don't get into no trouble." 

"When do I ever?" 

Kendrick just gave her a look. 

Monica cracked up. "Yeah, that's a lie if I ever heard one." 

Sedona waved them off, already mentally moving on to what awaited her. 

—

The club was alive in a way that made Sedona's skin hum. 

The moment she stepped inside, she was wrapped in thick, pulsing bass, neon strobes slicing through the darkness, illuminating flashes of sequined outfits, bare shoulders, and moving bodies. The air smelled of sweat, liquor, and expensive cologne, laced with the faintest hint of weed. 

She didn't go for VIP—wasn't in the mood to be tucked away in a roped-off section. She wanted to feel the energy. To be in it. 

And she looked every bit the part. 

She wore a fitted, sheer neon-yellow halter top with bold black lettering, the deep neckline accentuated by a delicate silver cross necklace that glowed under the flashing club lights. The top clung to her like a second skin, teasing just enough while leaving room for imagination. Paired with it was a camo-print mini skirt, riding high on her thighs with a front zipper that gleamed under the lights. Over it all, she draped a long, black leather trench coat, its oversized fit giving just the right amount of effortless cool, the sleeves hanging slightly off her shoulders. 

And the boots? Knee-high, black, and covered in silver buckles and grommets, adding an extra layer of edge. Her toned legs shimmered under the lights, her skin gleaming like she was dipped in honey. 

Heads turned as she walked in, but she paid them no mind. She was here to vibe. But just a bit.

And that's exactly what she did. 

Sedona found herself in the thick of the dancefloor, the music guiding her every movement. She rolled her hips to the rhythm, arms above her head, her body swaying effortlessly. The bass throbbed through her, syncing with her pulse, and she let go of everything except the beat. 

Occasionally, she weaved through the crowd to the bar, but only for water—tonight wasn't about getting wasted. She sipped as she took in the scenery. 

A group of women nearby were hyping each other up, their laughter blending with the music. A couple swayed in a corner, lost in their own world. A guy tried to catch her eye, but she barely spared him a glance before returning to the dancefloor. 

Then, the DJ spotted her. 

The music dipped slightly before their voice rang out over the mic, laced with excitement. "Ayo, London, y'all see who just stepped in the booth? We got Sedona in the building!" 

Cheers erupted, people turning, and phones flashing, but Sedona just grinned, giving a little wave as she leaned against the DJ booth. 

"This one's for the single ladies!" The DJ continued, cueing up the next track. 

Sedona cupped a hand around her mouth and shouted back, "I'm boo'd up, baby!" 

The crowd roared in response, the DJ laughing before giving her a playful salute. "Respect!" 

Sedona stayed a little longer, letting the music take her under again. She danced, she laughed, she lived. 

By the time exhaustion finally started creeping in, she knew it was time to call it. Security flanked her as she made her way back outside, the night air crisp against her warm skin. 

Sliding into the sprinter, she leaned back against the seat, breathless, exhilarated, already knowing Kendrick would be up when she got there, waiting with that knowing smirk, probably shaking his head. 

And she couldn't wait to tell him all about it.

—

The elevator ride up to her suite was quiet, the contrast almost jarring after the pulsating energy of the club. Now, there was just the soft hum of the lift, the distant murmur of late-night activity in the hotel, and the dull throb in her feet from hours spent dancing. But it was the good kind of ache—the kind that came with having too much fun.

Instead of making the short trip to her room, she found herself making a detour towards Kendrick's, pulling out the extra key he'd given her from when he'd gotten locked out of his room (long story), she swiped her keycard and pushed inside, the quiet warmth of the suite wrapping around her. The dim glow from the ambient lighting cast a golden hue over the space, making it feel even more inviting.

And there he was.

Kendrick sat on the couch, legs stretched out, his laptop open on the coffee table in front of him. He was now dressed in gray sweats and fitted black tee, though his chain was now resting on the table beside his laptop. He didn't look up immediately, but she could tell he was waiting.

Sedona smirked as she let the door shut behind her, shrugging off her leather trench and tossing it onto a nearby chair. "Had to make a quick detour. Hi."

Kendrick finally looked up, one brow slightly raised as he took her in—the slight sheen still on her skin from dancing, the loose waves in her hair now a bit tousled, the way her outfit still hugged her frame even after hours of moving. His gaze was slow, deliberate.

"Mm-hmm." He closed his laptop with a soft click, leaning back onto the couch. "Had a good time?"

She walked toward him, kicking off her boots near the couch, sighing in relief as her bare feet met the plush rug. "Yeah, actually. London knows how to party."

Kendrick smirked. "That so?"

Sedona plopped down next to him, stretching her legs out with a small groan. "Mmhmm. DJ even tried to dedicate a song to the single ladies. Had to let them know I'm very much boo'd up."

That made Kendrick chuckle, low and deep. He reached out, his fingers grazing her thigh. "Damn right."

She let her head fall against the back of the couch, eyes drifting shut for a second before she forced them open again. Sleep was tempting, but the way Kendrick was watching her now—his gaze warm and unreadable—made her want to push past the exhaustion for just a little longer.

With a soft sigh, Sedona sat up, stretching her arms over her head before standing. She padded toward the full-body mirror near the suite's vanity, taking a moment to admire her reflection. The dim lighting only added to the effect—the shimmer of her dress catching the soft glow, the way her skin still radiated that post-dance flush.

"Honestly," She mused, running a hand over her curves, "you should've came. And even if you didn't wanna be seen, VIP would've done you justice—'cause I look good."

Kendrick didn't say a word at first, but she felt the heat of his stare burning into her back, making a slow, satisfied smirk tug at her lips. When she turned to face him, his dark eyes had traced every inch of her, the silent agreement clear as day.

"Oh, you ain't gotta tell me," He murmured, voice low, thick. "I been knowin'."

She cocked her head slightly, her smirk widening. "That right?"

Kendrick leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingers idly tapping against his thigh. "Yeah." His gaze dropped, dragging over her frame again before flicking back up to meet hers. "Damn shame I wasn't there to watch you shut the place down."

Sedona hummed, stepping closer, enjoying the way his eyes followed her every movement. "Would've been a distraction anyway."

Kendrick smirked. "How you figure?"

"'Cause I would've spent the whole night pressed up against you."

That did something to him. She saw it in the subtle flex of his jaw, the slight shift of his hands as if resisting the urge to reach for her.

"Wouldn't have stopped you," He admitted, voice even lower now, thick with something unspoken.

Sedona felt the heat coil in her stomach, felt the temptation that had been eating at them both for weeks rise to the surface. They had agreed to the three-month rule—no sex, no slipping up, just focus. But right now? That rule felt like a flimsy excuse against the gravity pulling her toward him.

Her eyes dropped to his mouth, then back to his gaze.

Fuck it.

In the next moment, she closed the space between them, pushing him back onto the couch, her hands gripping his jaw as she pressed her lips to his.

Kendrick didn't hesitate, his arms locking around her waist as he pulled her onto his lap. The kiss was slow but deep, a dangerous mix of restraint and longing. His fingers traced the curve of her spine, gripping the fabric of her skirt as her own hands found his shoulders, his neck, anything to hold onto as they lost themselves for a moment.

God, it felt too good.

The way his tongue teased hers, the way his grip tightened just slightly whenever she shifted against him—it all sent heat coursing through her veins. Her fingers slid into his braids, nails lightly scraping against his scalp, and the low groan he let out nearly broke her.

But then—

She pulled away, just barely, their breaths mingling, lips still ghosting over each other's.

Kendrick's hands were still firm on her waist, his eyes dark, questioning.

"As much as I'd want to," She murmured, voice almost reluctant, "We can't."

The words hung between them, thick with unspoken frustration. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to move back, to create space even though every fiber of her being screamed against it.

Kendrick exhaled, running a hand over his face, then dragging it down his jaw. "Damn."

She let out a shaky breath, stepping back entirely. God, temptation was killing her. And he wasn't making it any easier looking like that—all mussed and still heated from their kiss, his gaze heavy with something she wasn't ready to deal with right now.

"I—I think I'ma just head for bed," She blurted, turning on her heel before she could change her mind. "Really tired."

Kendrick arched a brow. "You do realize this my room, right?"

That stopped her for half a second—but only half. Before she could dwell on the ridiculousness of her escape plan, she grabbed her boots from the floor and made a beeline for the door.

"G'Night, Kenny," She called over her shoulder, not daring to look back as she slipped out.

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Kendrick still standing, staring after her with a smirk.

"Mm," He exhaled, shaking his head. "Okay."

Kendrick exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face before leaning back against the couch. His head tilted up, eyes closing briefly as he let out a slow breath, trying to shake off the heat still coursing through him. 

But then he looked down. 

"Man, c'mon..." He muttered under his breath, shaking his head. 

Yeah, he definitely had a problem to fix now. 

With a low chuckle, he ran a hand over his jaw, glancing toward the closed door where Sedona had just disappeared. Three-month rule, huh?

This was gonna be a long-ass night.

—

©kashdemi
Volume I- Redamancy.
Chapter Fifty-two.
— ０２／１８／２５
———————

They want each other so bad.

Thoughts on the chapter? Thoughts on their growing relationship? And what do you expect for the next one?

Stay tuned for the next chapter, & til next time!
-shea