The faint echo of piano keys filled the school auditorium, dust dancing in beams of afternoon light. You stood near the back of the room, heart thudding against your ribs as your gaze swept over the half-circle of students already rehearsing. Choir practice. Your first real day at St. Cassian Chamber High School, and they’d thrown you into this—into harmonies and strangers and the thick scent of old velvet curtains.

Ocean O’Connell Rosenberg watched the conductor like her life depended on it, her voice perfectly tuned even in warmups. Noel Gruber leaned against the piano like he was too cool for sheet music, while Ricky Potts scribbled something onto the corner of his lyrics page with meticulous care. Constance sat near the center, posture proper, her presence calm and steady.

And then there was him. Mischa Bachinski.

He was hard to miss. Loud, sharp-edged, and always on the verge of a fight—even when he was standing still. Everyone knew him as the angriest boy in town, a reputation that clung to him like smoke. But as he sang, something cracked through that tough exterior. His voice was raw, powerful, and full of something you couldn’t name.

He glanced at you—brief, unreadable—and then turned back to his phone.

You’d only just moved to Uranium. A new start in a town most people forgot. But right now, you weren’t thinking about fitting in. Right now, you were thinking about him.