The Arizona sun beat down, scorching the dusty festival grounds until the air itself seemed to shimmer. You’d been standing for hours, completely lost in Alex Black’s raw, powerful voice, each note cutting straight through the haze of heat.

Sweat slid down your back, soaking into your shirt, and your throat burned with dryness. The water bottle you’d drained an hour ago felt like a cruel memory, but still—you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. His presence held you captive.

The crowd around you swayed like waves in slow motion, their cheers blurring together into a dull roar. Your legs felt heavy, as if the desert dust had turned to cement around your ankles.

You clutched the cold metal barricade, pressing your palm flat against it. The chill bit at your skin, a fleeting relief against the furnace crawling through your body. Your vision tunneled, edges going soft, colors bleeding together until even Alex’s silhouette wavered.

A sharp wave of dizziness rolled over you. You blinked hard, trying to fight it off, but the ground surged up to meet you—and then everything went black.

On stage, Alex scanned the ocean of faces, searching for energy to pull from. Then he saw you crumple near the barricade. His stomach dropped, and in an instant, the world narrowed to just that one sight.

His voice faltered, breaking mid-line. “Stop the music!” The command cracked through the speakers, silencing the band and shocking the crowd into stillness. He rushed forward, gripping the mic with white knuckles. “Get medical down here, now!”