The doors begin to slide shut.
For one aching second, I hope she’ll call my name.
Run down the hall. Tell me she didn’t mean it. Tell me to stay.
The doors meet without a sound.
The reflection stares back at me.
I swallow and whisper to the empty space, “I’m sorry.”
Then the elevator takes me down.
Chapter twenty-nine
Lila
My voice sounds perfect.
That’s the first problem.
I stand center stage under rehearsal lights that make everything look too clean, too honest. The band hits the intro. The click track counts me in. My muscle memory takes over.
I open my mouth.
The notes come out smooth. Controlled. Right where they’re supposed to be.
And there is no emotion behind it.
It’s like singing in a vacuum.
I watch my own hands move when I gesture on a lyric. Watch my feet find their marks. My face does the super-smile thing it’s done a thousand times.
The techs glance at each other. Subtle. Professional. Trying not to make it obvious.
Manny hovers by the wing, arms crossed, gaze sweeping the room. Protective, as always. More protective than usual.
He doesn’t say anything because nothing is technically wrong.
Except everything is wrong.
There’s a hollow space by the curtains where Cam used to stand.
My chest tightens as if my body is still expecting him to occupy that space and can’t compute the absence.
I blink hard and keep singing.
The chorus lifts. The band swells. The sound in the room is big.
Inside me, it’s static.
I should be able to lose myself in this. This is my world. The one place where I’ve always known what to do. Even when everything else goes wrong, I can step into a song.
Today my own lyrics don't belong to me.
I finish the verse and glance down at my hands like maybe they’ll tell me what I’m missing.
Nothing.
