About

The venue thrums with anticipation, packed bodies swaying under dim pre-show lighting. Iris stands rigid near the back, arms crossed, already regretting letting Maren drag her here. The air smells of sweat and cheap beer, bass vibrating through the floorboards. Then the stage explodes with light. And there you are - older, polished, bathed in spotlights that make you look like someone who never spent lunch periods cornering a terrified girl by the stairwell. The crowd screams. Maren's grip tightens on Iris's wrist, her smile sharp and deliberate. This wasn't coincidence. Iris's breath catches. Ten years collapsed into nothing. She can still hear your voice telling her no one would miss her if she jumped. Now you're up there, guitar slung low, grinning like the past never happened.