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After the show, we exited through the back, arm in arm, riding the wave of emotion, memory, and gratitude that this farewell tour was drumming up in each of us. And though the stage lights dimmed, the bond we had built—the magic we made together—was the one thing that would never fade.

The energy inside 30 Rock was electric. It pulsed through the walls, up my spine, and straight to my chest. I’d performed in front of thousands, but this was different.

SNL was a rite of passage. A legacy. And now it was ours.

I was so glad that Nas, Creed and Royal had come to New York to support us on this night especially.

I felt like we all needed them, to be our peace during a chaotic time.

We were backstage, barely holding in our adrenaline. Lights hot, energy thick, that familiar buzz of live television humming through the air. My nerves were doing the absolute most, but I kept it cool, because this was the moment. The moment we had dreamed about since Tisch.

Serenity and Averi were both beaming, and we looked like we belonged—three Black women, co-hosting Saturday Night Live, about to kill the stage. And as if that wasn’t enough? I was performing too.

“Y’all ready to show the world what legends look like?” Averi grinned, fixing the mic pack on the back of her skirt.

“You already know,” I smirked. The stage manager gave us the cue. We stepped out to applause, and I took my place between Serenity and Averi under the spotlight. “What’s up, New York!” I grinned, voice steady, heart pounding.

Serenity leaned in, “Y’all! We are hosting Saturday Night Live! ”

Averi didn’t miss a beat. With a wicked grin she replied, “Three witches from The Coven ... and not a broomstick in sight.”

I snorted. “Speak for yourself. I flew in on Delta, row 23, seat B. And baby... it was giving turbulence and trauma.” The crowd laughed. Serenity just shook her head, that serene smile on her face like she was the only calm one in the chaos.

“If you don’t know who we are,” Serenity said, glancing dramatically at the camera, “first of all, rude, but we starred in, The Coven, the hit supernatural drama where we cast spells, slayed demons, fell in love with vampires that looked like they played AAU basketball, and still made time for bad decisions and baby hairs.”

Averi cut in without missing a beat, “It’s giving Black girl magic meets the therapy session we keep rescheduling.”

“We should probably stop rescheduling those. Being an adult is very ghetto kids, 100% do not recommend.” I added, deadpan to the camera as if I was speaking to an imaginary group of kids. “Also, don’t judge us.” The crowd cackled and that lit a fire under all three of us.

“Ladies, let’s focus on why we’re here.” Serenity shook her head. “To talk about The Coven . Some of our co-stars reached out to us before we got here to give their support. What were some of your favorite storylines from the show?” she asked Averi and me.

“I loved the pilot episode.” Averi replied. “Because I didn’t have to do that much talking. My character was the least problematic of the three of us.”

“I think I agree. My character died, came back, lost her memory, fell in love with her enemy, died again, then came back with a new wig,” I said, flipping my curls dramatically. “And the wig slayed harder than the storyline.”

“And now that the show is coming to an end after six messy, magical seasons,” Serenity said, “we’re branching out.”

“Averi’s writing and producing,” I said proudly. “She wrote and produced half of her husband’s newest album. Shout out to Royal since Concrete Roses is still topping the charts.”

“Serenity opened a dance studio that already has a waitlist longer than a Popeyes line on chicken sandwich day,” Averi added. “If you’re in LA and need to put your kiddos in dance school, she’s your girl.”

“And me?” I placed a hand over my heart.

“I am recording an album; I soft launched a relationship, shout out to my man, and now I need a nap.” The audience laughed, and I soaked it in before flashing a quick smile.

“But tonight, I’m here to perform my new single Ctrl+Alt+Del, which is out now and climbing the charts. Stream that now on all platforms.”

Averi narrowed her eyes at me. “You really just plugged yourself during the monologue?”

I shrugged, not even pretending to be sorry. “Would you expect anything less from me?”

“She got a point,” Serenity said, already laughing. “Anyway, we are beyond excited to be here tonight. It’s our farewell to The Coven, our hello to whatever’s next, and a celebration of the chaos that brought us together.”

“And trust,” Averi added, “there’s gonna be skits, spells, wigs, and probably a fake commercial for lace glue sponsored by Black Twitter. But without further ado…”

We turned to the camera, flashing smiles like we were born for this. All three of us shouted in perfect unison, “Live from New York—it’s Saturday Niiiiight!”

The show was a blur of laughs, sketch changes, and applause.

Co-hosting with Serenity and Averi was effortless.

Our chemistry on stage was just as tight as it was off.

Then came the musical performances. First was Notice Me , the lights dimmed low, spotlight warm on my skin.

I stood center stage, mic in hand, and let the words carry me.

The crowd sang with me. It wasn’t just a performance—it was a conversation with everyone who ever questioned if I could stand in the spotlight alone.

And then came Ctrl Alt Delete . I gave attitude, vocals, and range. The beat hit and so did the crowd, clapping along. By the time I finished, I was breathless and floating. As the applause roared, I looked over and caught Nasseem clapping with a look of reverence, pride, and desire.

Dinner afterward was lowkey. The six of us sat tucked into a private room at Carbone, a little buzzed off the high of the night and a few glasses of wine.

Royal was already halfway through his second plate of spicy rigatoni, moaning like it was doing something to him.

Averi nudged him with her elbow and rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

“Y’all were fire up there,” Creed said, grinning as he lifted his glass in a toast. “I mean…co-hosting and performing? That ain’t light work.”

Nasseem added, “Nah, for real. Ya’ll bodied that shit.”

I glanced at him, fighting a smile as I took a sip of my wine. “You sure you not just biased?”

He tilted his head, eyes locked on me like I was the only one in the room. “I mean, I am. But even if I wasn’t? Y’all still shut that shit down.”

“Y’all see Twitter?” Averi said, pulling out her phone. “People are wildin’. One of these fan accounts said we need our own late-night talk show.”

Royal leaned over to look at her screen. “They ain’t wrong. I’d tune in.”

I pulled out my own phone and scrolled through the tags. The videos were everywhere—clips of our performances, skits, behind-the-scenes footage of us dancing in the hallway. The hashtags #TheCovenFarewell and #EgyptOnSNL were both trending.

“Look at this,” I said, holding my phone up so Nas could see. “Somebody tweeted, ‘Egypt Armstrong is the definition of show up and shut it DOWN.’”

He grinned, grabbing my jaw and planting a kiss on my lips. “Damn right.”

“I’m just proud of all of us,” Serenity said, her voice a little softer now.

“Like… we started at Tisch sharing ramen and dreams. And now look at us, look at what we have built.” There was a hush that fell over the table for a second—one of those reflective silences that said more than words ever could.

“We made it,” Averi said quietly.

“Still makin’ it,” Nas corrected, pride thick in his voice. “And I’m just glad I get to watch my woman shine.” That earned him another peck from me and a soft rub of my hand over his thigh.

Dinner carried on with laughter and more toasts. Plates were passed around, drinks topped off, and for a moment, there was no grief or pressure. Just us. Just love, success, and the bond that had always carried us through.

And in that moment, I was reminded, this was our circle, our tribe. No matter how crazy life got…we were always gonna have this.

Later that night, we were back in our suite. My lashes were off. Jewelry on the nightstand. I had one of Nasseem’s tees on, oversized and smelling like his cologne. I was brushing through my curls at the vanity when I felt him behind me, the weight of his stare pressing into the mirror.

“You still glowing from that stage,” he said low, stepping behind me.

I smirked. “That SNL lighting hit different.”

“Nah,” he said, resting his hands on my shoulders, his voice deeper now.

“That glow’s all you.” I set the brush down.

Our eyes met in the reflection, and I watched him lean down, his lips grazing the top of my shoulder.

He dragged his fingers along my collarbone, slow, deliberate.

“You ain’t just beautiful on stage, E,” he murmured.

“You powerful.” A soft hum left my lips as I tilted my head, giving him more space.

He moved like he was memorizing me all over again—hands roaming, kisses trailing heat down the back of my neck.

“I missed you,” he whispered, voice rough, thick with want.

“I’m right here,” I breathed, heart pounding.

His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me back against him. “You don’t know what that means to me.” I turned in his arms, facing him now. Our eyes locked. Everything that we’d been through, the pain, the healing, the love—it was there, sitting heavy between us.

“You sure you feel well enough for this?” I asked softly, palms resting on his chest.

He nodded. “I’m sure I want you.”

My lips parted to respond, but he kissed me before I could say anything else. Soft and warm. Like a promise sealed in fire. One hand on my face, the other on my lower back, guiding me toward the bed without ever breaking the kiss.

And I let him. Because tonight wasn’t about the applause; or the fame, or the trauma we carried. Tonight was just... us. Our love which was unspoken. But loud as hell.