The two of them met in the middle with a fist-bump, the kind that came from months of inside jokes and shared film sets. The rehearsal space was massive—high ceilings, wall-to-wall mirrors, wires snaking across the floor, and enough speakers to fill an arena.

Hudson glanced back over his shoulder, then stepped aside slightly, gesturing behind him.

Malachi's gaze shifted. And paused. Not dramatically. Not obviously. Just enough.