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I’d been listening toDangerous Thingon loop, trying to figure out what felt off, what still needed layering.

And it hit me:Her. It was her. The verses were there. The chords. The ache. But the fullness…the completion… the honesty behind what we were singing.

That was missing.Shewas missing.

The way she hummed when she didn’t know anyone was listening. The sound her breath made when she caught a lyric in her throat. Theunwrittenpart of our story—the one thatcould only come if she gave herself permission to show up again.

Not just in the booth. But here. With me. We weren’t done. Not musically. Not emotionally. Not soulfully.

And she knew it. I felt it in the silence she left behind.

I don’t know how we got here. When this all began, I was strictly about laying down the track, not laying down my heart. But I’d done just that, and let her tap all over it.

My phone buzzed.

Amir: Bro. You in tomorrow or what?

I typed back quick.

Me: Yeah. Afternoon.

Then I hesitated.

Opened another thread.

Her name at the top like a lyric I couldn’t shake. I sent my messages and hoped she’d be responsive.

Three dots appeared.

Paused. Flickered. Disappeared. I stared at the screen, then placed the phone face down on the counter.

She’d reply when she was ready and until then, I’d keep making music. That’s what this was supposed to be about anyway.

She’s the one reminding me how much I’d lost the beat.

NINETEEN

The hotel room was quiet, but my thoughts weren’t.

I stood barefoot near the floor-to-ceiling window, arms folded, robe loose around me, looking down at Pittsburgh from the thirty-second floor. Everything below was a blur of amber streetlamps and the slow drag of traffic. I could still hear the echo of my own voice in the studio hours earlier—raw,unfiltered, real. That song hadn’t been for them. It was for me. For the ache sitting in the center of my chest that I’d carried too long without naming.

And yet… Amir had heard it because there was no way he couldn’t but I didn’t expect what came next, after he hit record and Brielle called.

“They heard it, Sienna. Amir sentEcho of Your Flameto the execs.”

I was still in the back seat then. Dre driving, steady hands on the wheel. Eyes on the road, but I could tell he felt the shift in the air the moment my phone rang.

“What do you meanthey heard it?”

My voice had come out harsher than I intended.

“They’re obsessed,” she said, completely ignoring my angst. “Talking about lead single potential. But that’s not the point—girl, what was that?I haven’t heard you like that in years.”

I hadn’t responded. Not really.

Because I didn’t have the words.

Until now.