PREVIEW

... nst the side of a dented van parked outside The Pulse in Glintmoor, the city's midnight air sharp with the scent of rain-soaked pavement and distant charcoal. His guitar case rested at his feet, the leather strap's stars glinting under a flickering streetlamp, a tether to his mom's pride. The Glintmoor blaze still roared—Shatterpoint, Flicker, Fireflies, Weight of Wings, Fire That Stays—their raw truth igniting the stage, the crowd's chants a pulse that lingered like a heartbeat. Shatterpoint wa ...

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