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“Yeah, lemme know when you’re aWade,”Charliejokes.

Tyslips an arm around my shoulder. “Icould be convinced to change my name.”

Charliequirks a brow, as do the others.

IshrugTy’sarm off, excusing myself likeIrecognize someone else to greet closer to backstage.

ZakandAdrianstare asIwalk away.

* * *

Myheart thumps hard against my sternum asIpeer out onto the stage in between all the guys,Zakto my left,Adrianto my right,Shannonbehind me.Arestless sea of fans awaits out there.

“Time-less!Time-less!Time-less!”

“A’ight, y’all, let’s huddle.”

Robbie’sarm circles around my shoulders asAdrian’sslips around my waist.Acamera snaps rapidly overhead.

“Whoare we?”

“Timeless,” we say in unison.

Shannon’svoice raises. “Isaid: who are we?”

Oursraise, too. “Timeless.”

Zak’seyes lock onto mine.

Shannonhollers, voice deepening, “Isaid: who the fuck are we?”

Everyone, roadies and techs and all, shout, “Motherfuckin’Timeless!”

Shannon’sarms drop from aroundRobbieandZak, hands clapping together. “You’regoddamn right, we’reTimeless.Let’sfuckin’ rock, baby!”

Zakleads us out, strumming the opening riff of “BreathingHatred,” and the crowd screams.

Onstage, only the best parts ofTimelessexist: the talent, the passion, the music that screams for you when you can’t scream for yourself.Thereare no devils or lechuza or worries—only me, my guitar, my best friends and brother, and fans who sing along with us.

Thestage is where the world begins and ends.

Ispin around with my guitar likeIused to, letting the breakdown fuel my whirling.

Theneck slips from my sweaty hand and clipped strings scrape my palm.Twoseconds later, a burning line stings my hand.

Grimacing,Iwipe my palm over my black shirt and quickly return to my guitar.Thecrowd doesn’t seem to notice as the chaos of a circle pit pushes the front against the barricade a few feet away from the stage.

Ahot gush of wind passes over the stage from my side to the other, blowing my hair in my face.Itry to toss it out of my way, glimpsing at the other side of the stage in the process.

Idouble take whenZakstalks across the stage.

Hiseyes are dark and red, starvation straining his features.

Myeyes widen asItake a few steps backward, quickly trying to think of a way to not get eaten in front of thousands of people while not drawing attention to my panic.

Glancingover at the sea of faces asIback away,Ismell the hint of sulfur beneath the pot beforeIsee him: the shadow face hidden under a black cowboy hat blocking the sun.

Iswallow hard and refocus onZakheading for me.