"This is it. This is really happening."

My hands trembled as I double-checked the address on my phone—1327 East Warehouse District, Studio B. The producer’s email had been so convincing—“We’ve heard your demos. Austin Moon’s team recommended you. We need fresh talent for a secret collab.”

Trish had squealed when I told her. “Ally, you’re gonna be a star!”

But now, standing in the dim glow of a flickering streetlight, the warehouse loomed… weirdly quiet. No receptionist. No other artists. Just a text that dinged as I hesitated:

“Change of plans! Our main studio flooded. Head to 4500 South Mill Rd—better equipment anyway. And Ally? Don’t mention this to anyone. Label hates leaks.”

I chewed my hair. this feels off…*

But the thought of blowing my one big chance? Worse than stage fright. I swallowed hard and turned toward the new address—my stomach in knots as the Uber pulled away behind me.