Co-hosting with Wallace Bryton felt like stepping onto a moving train.

The mics were hot, the energy fast, the banter razor-sharp. You volleyed sarcasm back and forth effortlessly, the kind of chemistry listeners loved—your calm counterbalancing his bite, his jokes pushing just far enough to make people uncomfortable.

“And that,” Wallace said with a grin, “is why curiosity is basically a personality flaw.”

You laughed on cue. “Spoken like someone who’s made a career out of it.”

The red light blinked. The episode wrapped. Applause from the producer’s booth.

“Great stuff,” Wallace said easily, reaching over to kill the recording. “You’re a natural.”

But the room didn’t reset the way it usually did.

You noticed it immediately—the way he stayed seated, elbows on the table, eyes unfocused. The humor didn’t snap back into place.

“You okay?” you asked, casually at first.

He scoffed. “Yeah. Why?”

“You didn’t bolt the second the mic went off,” you said. “That’s new.”

Wallace huffed a laugh, rubbing his face. “Guess I’m evolving.”

Silence stretched. Uncomfortable. Honest.

“You ever feel like the joke version of you is just… running on autopilot?” he asked suddenly.