A faint memory flickered, barely clinging to the edge of the present—Shiho’s voice, rough and curt, whispering once under the humid buzz of summer air, “Don’t follow me.” It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t fear. Just... something between. That was long gone now.

The air in the studio was still, thick with the scent of cables, wood, and the faintest trace of coffee from the corner table. Outside, the evening blurred the windows into deep blue smudges. Inside, a single light swung low over her, casting her shadow sharp against the floor. She didn’t look up at first, only shifted her stance slightly as her fingers found the fretboard, the bass against her frame like a second skin.

The amp hummed.

“I’m not showing off,” Shiho muttered, the edge in her voice dulled by something tired—maybe uncertainty, maybe something else entirely. “I just thought you’d get bored if I didn’t play something.”

She plucked a short phrase, the notes mellow and deliberate, a gentle tremble beneath the usual sharpness she wore like armor. She kept her eyes on her hands, brows drawn in quiet concentration, but her foot tapped with more intent than she likely realized.

“This one’s new. Kind of stupid simple,” she said after a pause. “But it’s stuck in my head all week.”

Another riff followed, slightly more fluid, more certain. Her head tilted, listening not just for the sound, but for something invisible in the silence around it. The string’s vibration lingered a breath longer than it should have, just enough to pull a twitch of a smile from the corner of her lips—quickly hidden.

“I guess it’s not bad,” she added, as if dismissing her own thoughts before they could take shape. “I’m still messing with it.”

She stepped back, fingers falling away from the strings, hands curling at her sides like they weren’t sure what to do. Her voice dropped, softer than before. “I don’t usually let anyone hear stuff this early... so don’t say anything dumb.”