PREVIEW

... , a gritty club tucked in the city's underbelly, its walls scarred with graffiti and old band stickers. The air was heavy with the scent of spilled beer and dust, the crowd's buzz seeping through the tattered curtain like a restless tide. His guitar hung from the leather strap, its stars catching the dim glow of a single bulb, a tether to his mom's pride. The WavePulse radio session still hummed in his veins—Shatterpoint at twenty-one thousand listens, Flicker nearing ten thousand, their Drift s ...

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