Before the Panel

The convention hall's mostly empty this early. The overhead lights hum, and the smell of coffee, fresh vinyl banners, and sawdust from unfinished booths mixes in the air. Crew members scurry by with carts of merchandise, rolling racks of wardrobe, props, and crates of promotional junk.

My trailer’s set to premiere in about two hours, but they’re already laying down the red carpet, testing the big screens, adjusting the mic levels.

And standing right here, next to me, wide-eyed and slightly sleep-deprived, is Emily. Her hand’s in mine. Her pulse is thudding under her skin like she’s just run a marathon because she sees her. Kathryn.

“Hey,” I say softly, squeezing her hand, “breathe. She’s just a person.”

Emily shoots me a look like I just suggested the Earth is flat.

“She’s Claire Novak.”

Before I can reply for Emily to not call her that, Kathryn bounds towards us, blonde hair pulled into a loose braid, casual black t-shirt knotted at her waist, jeans, minimal makeup—the effortless kind of pretty that makes you forget she’s likely been up since 5 a.m. coordinating interviews with Kripke and the HBO team.

When her eyes land on me, they light up with that conspiratorial, secret-keeping gleam. She knows about the proposal.

“There you are,” Kathryn says with a grin, pulling me into a quick, friendly hug before her gaze slides to Emily. “And you must be Emily.”

Emily freezes for half a second, then stammers—adorably, I might add. “I—uh—hi—I’m—yep, that’s me. Sorry, I’m still waking up. Also, I’m freaking out a little. Big fan. Huge.”

Kathryn laughs, easy and genuine. “That’s flattering, but I’m honestly more excited to see you right now.”

Emily blinks, confused.

Kathryn smirks, eyes cutting to me. “Joe’s been impossible to deal with this week. Since you got here? Whole new man.” She offers her hand. “It’s nice to finally meet the reason for that.”

Emily blushes as they shake, her posture easing, the nerves cracking just enough to let the warmth in.

Beside me, Iris watches with quiet amusement, her eyes sparkling as she taps away on her phone, probably scheduling our next meeting with HBO’s PR people. She lent Emily the outfit this morning—a fitted, soft black tank top and light-wash jeans with a tear at the knee. The shirt’s a little tight in the chest, but that’s expected. Emily’s not exactly stacked, but she’s got more to work with than Iris does, which I wisely keep to myself.

The three of us—me, Iris, and Emily—wander the floor, Emily and I hand-in-hand as the vendors set up their booths. Pop figures. Replica weapons. Posters. Shirts. Pins. Everything from Supernatural, past and present, piled high, the smell of fresh plastic and printed fabric everywhere.

I’ve seen all this before. So has Iris. We’ve been inside enough production setups, enough premieres, to know how the bread gets made.

But Emily? Her eyes shine like a kid seeing Disneyland for the first time. She lingers by a booth with vintage Supernatural vinyl, runs her fingers over a display of sigil-carved necklaces, her smile soft, full of quiet awe.

We make sure she enjoys every second of it.

But underneath it all, the ring box presses against my chest. Heavy. Steady. Waiting.

I’d been carrying the ring around for months—long before the teaser trailer, before the con invite, even before everything changed when I was granted world creating abilities. But life? Life got loud. Her career. Mine. The endless noise of responsibility. I never wanted to squeeze that moment in between.

Then Kathryn called. Told me about the teaser premiering here. About being their special guest.

I knew.

It had to be here.

A small, private bathroom tucked near the green room becomes my quiet sanctuary for a minute. I lock the door. Exhale. Dig the box from my jacket pocket.

The ring’s perfect.

Two sleek silver dolphins, minimal but elegant, arch on either side of the diamond, their bodies curving to cradle the stone in place. Their tails nearly kiss at the band’s underside, etched with tiny waves that shimmer in the light. The diamond itself is round, clean-cut, modest in size but flawless, the kind of sparkle that catches your breath without screaming for attention.

Inside the band? The simple engraving that says everything:

“I know.”

I chuckle under my breath, shaking my head.

Thank god her favorite animal wasn’t an orangutan. That’d have been a weird ring.

The nerves churn low in my gut, but my heart. It’s steady. It’s time.

When I step back into the hall, Emily and Iris are exactly where I left them—chatting, laughing, Emily’s eyes bright, Iris’s phone long forgotten in her pocket.

“Bout time,” Iris teases, bumping my arm as I slide beside them.

I grin, steady now, the weight of the ring in my chest pocket grounding me.

The panel starts soon.

And by the end of today… she’ll be my fiancée.