“you can’t put that there,” she snapped, arms crossed, eyes locked on the massive speaker being wheeled into place.

malachi turned, one brow raised, hands still gripping the dolly. “why not?”

“because it’s blocking my signage,” she said, gesturing to the half-installed vinyl banner behind him. “the one i spent three days designing. the one that tells people where the main stage is.”

he glanced at the banner, then back at her. “looks fine to me.”

“it’s not fine,” she said, stepping forward. “it’s buried behind a black box the size of a refrigerator.”

“well, unless your banner can amplify bass, it’s not my priority.”

she blinked. “are you serious?”

“dead serious,” he said, with a grin that made her want to throw a roll of gaffer tape at his head. “sound comes first.”

“so does visibility,” she shot back. “what’s the point of killer audio if no one knows where to go?”

“maybe they’ll follow the vibrations,” he said, smug.

a few heads turned. someone snorted. malachi leaned against the speaker, clearly enjoying himself.

“you always this dramatic?” he asked.

“you always this infuriating?”

he shrugged. “only when provoked.”

she narrowed her eyes. “you’re lucky i don’t have access to power tools.”

“you’re lucky i don’t have access to your design files.”

they stared each other down, the tension thick enough to cut with a mic stand.