Inside, it was all exposed brick, string lights, and the kind of sticky-floored intimacy that made small venues feel sacred. The crowd was maybe eighty people, pressed shoulder to shoulder, sweat already beading on foreheads despite the October chill outside.

On stage, the band was three songs in. Not headlining yet—just opening for a band no one would remember in a year—but the energy was already electric.

The crowd didn't notice. The guitarist did.

And in the back, leaning against the bar with a half-empty glass, a figure watched the guitarist with more attention than the music warranted.

The room erupted.

The singer stepped back from the mic, chest heaving, and looked at the guitarist with a smile that said we did it—the kind of look that wasn't for the crowd.

The guitarist didn't smile back. But they didn't look away either.