Page 10 of Vengeful Melodies

My voice comes out harsher than I mean it to, but it’s the truth. He hasn’t reallybeen herein months. Mentally, Alix lives on cloud Alix. The rest of us are just passengers flying past.

“Cut it out, Koa. We’ve got a show to rehearse for,” Kai chimes in, like I’m the damn problem.

What a joke.

We allknowAlix has been spiraling since the Vivian mess last year. Our PR team nearly lost their minds trying to clean it up. We warned him about her—how controlling she was, how he stopped showing up to rehearsals because she wouldn't let him out of her sight.

He nearly went broke trying to replace the shit she stole. His grandma’s ring is still missing. If someone pawned my nan’s ring for drug money, I’d lose my damn mind too.

But dwelling on the past won’t fix what’s broken now. We have obligations. Deadlines. This tour can’t be half-assed. Our label’s ready to cut the cord if we screw up again.

“Dude, I get it—you’re the leader,” Bash says, more serious than usual. “But we all know what this tour means. We’ve all got demons, man. But we leave them backstage. We don’t bring ‘em to the frontlines.”

He’s right.

And surprisingly mature, for once.

“I’m sorry,” Alix says quietly, almost too low to hear. “Today’s been… hard. I won’t let you guys down again.”

I exhale. “I’m sorry too—for snapping. It’s just… the label’s been riding us hard. And our business assistant quit this morning. Said he couldn’t handle balancing school and babysitting us. His girlfriend was on crew too, so we lost her as well. We’re down two people before the biggest tour of our lives. And—”

I hesitate, then drop the bomb.

“Grey’s coming back on tour. After this show, he’s leaving the tattoo shop and hitting the road with us.”

That catches their attention.

Our best friend. Our anchor. Back on the road with us.

But we’re still short-staffed. And this tour? It’s global. Two years. No breaks. No room for error.

How the hell we’ll manage… I have no fucking idea.

“Alright,” I say, cutting off their questions before they start. “Let’s get to work. Show’s in three days.”

Everyone takes their places. I step up to the mic again.

Alix raises his sticks, slamming out the usual three-count. The bass hums in, Kai’s low rhythm vibrating through the stage. Sebastian’s guitar joins, sharp and chaotic.

Then it’s my turn.

I close my eyes.

And let go.

There’s a sickness inside me I can’t sweat out.

Not nerves. Not stage fright. Something worse.

The kind of pressure that doesn’t sit on your chest—itdigsinto it. Clawed. Persistent.

We’ve bled for this night. Breathed it like smoke.

Died and resurrected for it.

We can’t afford to fuck this up.

Not for the label. Not the fans.