It wasn’t for them.
I’ve played sold-out stadiums on this tour. I’ve heard tens of thousands of people scream my name.
But it has never been likethis. This energy isdifferent.
It’s not just excitement. It’s raw, electricreverence. Like I set something free inside them, and now they don’t know how to put it back.
The crowd keeps going. A full two minutes past our exit cue, and they’re still going. They’re stomping while they’re chanting Umbra so loud it’s echoing off the walls of Nissan Stadium, as if it belongs to something ancient and holy.
I should feel triumphant.
But all I feel israge.
Rage thathewas here. That he got to see this part of me.
Rowan is waiting under the stage at the checkpoint with my phone and emotional support water bottle, his brows drawn tight in a way I know a big brother lecture is on its way.
He keeps pace with me as we walk to the green room, his eyes already scanning my face, my posture, before locking on my throat.
“Hey,” he says, and there’s no heat in ityet. “Talk to me. Your voice clipped on the bridge and went raw a few times tonight. Do you feel strain? Pain? Anything sharp?”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, trying to get to the privacy of our makeshift dressing rooms.
Rowan holds the door open for me, and I brush past him, trying to get away from the interrogation I know is coming.
“You don’t sound fine. I want a doctor to look at you before we do anything else, and you’re on vocal rest for the rest of the night.”
I stop short. “Rowan. No.”
He exhales through his nose, frustration leaking through the calm. “Celeste, that crack wasn’t planned. I heard it in your support. You can’t mess with your voice like that. Not on a run this long.”
My jaw tightens. “My voice is fine.”
“That’s not—”
“Myvoiceis fine,” I repeat, sharper now, and finally turn to face him. “Myheartis not.”
That gets him to still.
“Is he here?” He asks quietly.
I nod once. “He was standing next to Orion. That crack wasn’t strain; it was shock. I saw him, and the song hit differently. That’s all.”
Rowan’s shoulders ease a fraction, though the worry doesn’t leave his eyes. “Are you sure your vocal cords are okay?”
“I promise,” I say. “I don’t have any pain, there is no burning or loss of range. It was just… a moment.”
He watches me for another beat, weighing it, then nods once. “Okay. I still want you to hydrate. Steam when you’re back at the hotel. No talking unless you have to,” he pauses. “And for what it’s worth, you handled it, and you fucking killed it without hurting yourself. Social media is already going insane about your ‘note changes’.”
“I didn’t know he’d be here,” I admit, the words finally slipping loose. The validation from him and the fans lands harder than I expected it to.
“I know,” Rowan says. “If you had, Orion wouldn’t be breathing.”
A humorless laugh breaks out of me. “You’re not wrong.”
He reaches out and taps the back of my hand with two fingers. “You don’t have to be invincible tonight, you just have to get through it.”
My hands still shake as I grab my toiletry bag, pulse roaring loud enough to drown out the world.
