Page 29 of Vengeful Melodies

Focus.

The beat starts soft in my mind—a steady pulse. Then it builds. Louder. Harder.

My hands explode into a rapid-fire solo, tapping and slamming the drums like I need to prove they still belong to me.

The first song on tonight’s setlist is new. A song about loving someone who doesn’t love you back. We barely knew if it would make the cut.

But Sebastian insisted. Said we needed it—to remind the fans, remind ourselves, that beneath the smoke, the screaming, the lights—

We’re still human.

We bleed like they do.

We break like they do.

We’re not gods. Just ghosts with microphones.

The rhythm floods through me, and for a moment I forget about Dreya.

Forget about the pressure.

Forget that we’re all barely holding it together.

Then comes the clapping—slow, sarcastic, mocking.

I open my eyes. The guys are down there, watching with smirks that say they know exactly what I’m feeling.

“Gentlemen,” Takoa’s voice cuts through the noise—low and heavy. “Label called. We’ve got something to go over before we hit the stage.”

“Let me reset everything,” I say, voice too thin, too unsure. “I’ll meet you in the dressing room.”

Koa nods, pulling Bash and Kaiser with him. But he shoots me one last look—something like sympathy tangled with warning.

I look down at my hands again.

Steady now. But calm? Never.

Not when the lights are about to burn.

Not when the crowd waits to tear us apart.

Not when she’s here.

I slip my sticks into their sheath, stand slowly, and descend the stairs one careful step at a time—each echo like a countdown to war.

Backstage hits me like a freight train—roadies shouting, guitars tuning, bass thumping through the floor like the heartbeat of some ancient beast waking from slumber.

And then—there she is.

Grey and Wren stand by the doors.

And beside them—Dreya.

My throat dries up. I freeze. Mid-step.

She’s wearingmyshirt—our shirt—and somehow she makes it look like it was made for her. Like it’s a sin to see it stretched across curves that make my mind snap.

Breathing? Impossible.