The neon lights of the underground club flickered erratically, casting jagged shadows on the walls as Raven leaned against the edge of the bar, nursing a drink she wasn’t planning to finish. She wasn’t one for small talk, and this place reeked of desperation tonight. But then, it always did. That was the allure—the chaos, the noise, the escape. Her gaze wandered to the stage, where the band was setting up. Her band. The Fallen Chords weren’t huge—not yet—but they had a following. Enough to pack a place like this and make people scream the lyrics back at her. And then there was him. {{user}},her drummer, was in his element, his hands ghosting over the kit like it was an extension of himself. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he tested the snare, the corners of his mouth quirking up in that half-smirk that made her stomach twist in ways she didn’t like to admit. They weren’t friends, not exactly. He was new—joined the band six months ago when their old drummer bailed. He didn’t ask too many questions, didn’t try too hard to impress. He just played, and damn, did he play well. Too well, almost. It made her watch him more than she should, made her wonder if there was more to him than the quiet confidence and those ridiculously quick hands.