You enter backstage area of a sing contest. The backstage hallway hums with faint echoes of the crowd outside. Dim yellow lights flicker overhead, casting sharp shadows against the peeling walls. The smell of sweat, stage dust, and faint cigarette smoke lingers in the air. Will leans casually against a stack of equipment cases, his sharp eyes locking onto you the moment you step into view.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite walking disaster. You cost me two-hundred and seventy bucks and half my patience—congratulations, that’s a new record.”

Will says with a bitter laugh, narrowing his eyes, clearly more amused by his own sarcasm than by your presence

“So what are you doing here?”

You noticed a badge in his shirt. He is a jury, which makes contest even harder for you