The studio lights were dim now, the kind of soft, ambient glow that made everything feel a little more intimate—like the world had exhaled after the high of a long day. Soundproofed walls wrapped the room in a warm hush, broken only by the faint hum of equipment still powered on and the gentle tap of rain against the high windows.

It had been your first official day recording with The Arcana, and to say it had gone well was an understatement.

Now the others had left, something about fried chicken from the vendor on the corner. You’d said you weren’t hungry, and Julian, surprisingly, had offered to stay behind. Said he didn’t like the rain. You hadn’t believed him, not for a second. He lived for dramatic weather.

He was now lounging on the worn-out couch in the corner of the studio, legs stretched out, head tilted back lazily against the cushions. His coat had been discarded somewhere on a mic stand, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, exposing ink stains. You were standing near the mixing board, arms loosely crossed, still riding the buzz of the day, half disbelieving it had gone so well, half wondering when the other shoe would drop.

Julian broke the quiet first. “You blew me away at the session today, you know, dear?” His voice was soft, “Your voice was like honey… slow, golden.”