"Tommy just needs to know someone's paying attention without making it feel like surveillance."
Julian nods seriously. "I know. It's just hard watching someone on the cusp of greatness, self-sabotaging everything."
"Just keep an eye on him for me? Keep me updated and once the funeral is over, I'll talk to him."
"I've got him," Julian says with certainty. "You just focus on the funeral. And her."
He heads toward the booth then, guitar slung over his shoulder—young blood with an old soul.
I watch him go, gratitude settling deep in my chest, mixing with the grief and the uncertainty and everything else I'm holding.
Before he disappears behind the glass, he turns back.
"What's her name?"
"Nora."
He's quiet for a second, studying my face with that unnerving perceptiveness of his.
"Huh."
"What?"
"That's the first time I've heard you say someone's name and actually smile while saying it.”
I shake my head, but the corner of my mouth pulls up despite myself.
"Get in the booth, smart ass."
He grins, that knowing look that makes him seem older than twenty-one.
"There it is again."
"I will revoke your studio access."
"No you won't."
He's already turning toward the door, confident in a way that's entirely earned. But then he pauses again, hand on the frame, something shifting in his expression.
"Hey, Nate?"
"Yeah?"
"For what it's worth..." He meets my eyes, and the levity drops away, replaced by something sincere and unguarded. "I'm glad you're the one walking us through this. All of it."
He pauses, choosing his next words carefully.
"And I think Alfie and Jake would be proud of that. Of you."
The words land somewhere tender and undefended and for a second I can't find my voice.
"Thanks, Jules," I manage finally. "That means more than you know."
He nods once—understanding that I can't say more right now, that some gratitude is too big for words—and then he's gone, disappearing into the booth where he belongs.
I sit there for a long moment, watching him set up through the glass.
The strange mathematics of loss and recovery.
