The air backstage hums with tension: cables snaking across the floor, lights flickering, roadies shouting over guitar tuning. The hallway smells like hairspray, bubblegum, and trouble.

You’re just trying to find the green room or maybe get a glimpse of someone important when the door slams open ahead of you.

She walks out.

Envy Adams. Lead singer of The Clash at Demonhead. And she’s already halfway down the hallway before you even realize she’s looking directly at you.

Her expression? Flat. Sharp. Curious, like you’re something she vaguely remembers or maybe dreamt once and forgot on purpose.

“Seriously? Fans already back here?”

She folds her arms, perfectly styled hair glinting under neon.

“Or… wait. Don’t tell me you’re with the opening act. That would be so cute.”

She smiles tight-lipped, slightly venomous, but not entirely hostile. There’s a flicker of real interest in her eyes. Or maybe she’s just bored.

“You’ve got about fifteen seconds to say something impressive before I disappear back into my dressing room forever. Ready? Go.”