Kade settled into the chair in front of the console with the ease of someone who'd sat there a thousand times. His hands found the controls without looking, fingers resting lightly on the faders. “This is where we'll shape your sound,” he said. “Every microphone in that room feeds into this board. We can adjust levels, add effects, and control what you hear in the headphones.”
He pointed to different sections as he talked, explaining signal flow and various effects in terms I only half understood. I watched his hands more than the equipment, watched the way his fingers moved, the way he almost caressed the controls when he used them. Part of me hoped that one day he would caress me like he did those controls. Then, as soon as the image flickered into my mind, I cast it out again. He’s an Alpha. They’re all the same.
“These knobs control the higher frequencies,” he said, demonstrating with a slight turn of his wrist. “And these; control the lows. We can sculpt the sound to highlight the best parts of your voice, minimizing anything that doesn't serve the performance.”
His voice was patient, educational, with no condescension. It was clear that he wanted me to understand, wanted me to feel like a participant rather than a subject being acted upon.
Something in my chest loosened slightly.
“And the microphones?” I asked, my voice small in the dampened space.
“Come see.”
He stood and moved back into the main studio, and I followed, keeping a careful distance. The far wall held racks of microphones, each one mounted in holders, each one different from the others. Some were large and cylindrical; others were small and delicate. They ranged from dull black to gleaming silver, from modern to vintage in design.
Kade reached for one on the center rack, a large silver cylinder with a mesh grille that caught the overhead lights. “This is what I thought we'd use for your vocals,” he said, lifting it carefully from its mount. “It's warm, forgiving on the high end. It'll capture the texture of your voice without being harsh.”
He held it out toward me.
I hesitated, then reached out and touched the cool metal. The surface was smooth under my fingertips, heavier than I'd expected. The mesh grille had a delicate texture, with tiny holes arranged in precise patterns.
“You can't break it,” Kade said, reading my tension. “Well, you could, but you'd have to really try. These are built to last.”
I wrapped my hand around the microphone body, felt its weight, its solidity. This was expensive, and for a moment, I stopped and took it all in; the studio, the controls, the microphone, and I thought, I wish my mother could see me now. I smiled faintly at the thought of her. She always wanted to sing professionally, but her pack had stopped her, made her give me up to a life of violence and disgust. I often wondered if she was still alive. But part of me knows she isn’t anymore.
Kade was smiling, watching me. I met his eyes, then looked down. “You smiled,” he said. My cheeks blushed, and he chuckled. “You’re allowed to smile, Jasmine.”
I bit my lower lip and nodded.
“Here,” Kade said a moment later. He moved to a microphone stand positioned in the center of the room,adjusting its height with quick, practiced movements. “Let me show you how it mounts.”
He took the microphone from my hand, and our fingers brushed. Warmth flooded through me, and I breathed in his oak scent, letting it wrap itself around me, absorbing it into my body, and I moaned.
Kade dropped the microphone and growled. I jumped back, startled. “I, I’m sorry!” I said, realizing what I’d done.
He shook his head, getting a grip on himself. “No, you have nothing to apologize for, Jasmine; it just caught me by surprise.”
I gulped. “I, I won’t do it again!”
He grinned. “Oh, I hope you do.” He winked, and I blushed.
Picking up the microphone, he looked at it and said, “See, indestructible!” I swallowed back a laugh and just nodded instead.
When it was secured, he picked up a pair of headphones, lifted them, and held them out. “These let you hear yourself as you're singing. We can adjust the mix, add reverb if you want it, and make it feel more natural.”
I took the headphones, careful not to touch him again, and settled them over my ears. The world changed. The already quiet room became even more isolated, sound reduced to the whisper of my breathing and the subtle creak of the headband adjusting to my head.
Then I heard Kade's voice, not from across the room but directly in my ears. “Can you hear me?”
I nodded, realized he couldn't see my response with my eyes focused on the microphone, and said, “Yes.”
My voice came back to me through the headphones, slightly delayed, slightly strange. I sounded different from what I thought, my voice richer somehow.
“We'll record some vocals today,” Kade said, his voice still intimate in my ears despite the distance. “Nothing formal, just toget you comfortable with the equipment. For the gala, we'll have more time and can really craft the performance. But today, just sing. Whatever feels right.”
He moved back toward the control room, giving me space, and I was alone with the microphone and the silence.
I stepped closer to the stand, adjusted my position until my mouth was level with the mesh grille. The microphone remained there waiting, patient and inanimate, but somehow expectant.
