Page 30 of The Encore’s Crown

I cut every lawn I could to buy that jacket. Hid it from Dad under my mattress, in Rithy’s backpack, in his locker at school. Mom helped him get his first guitar that same year, and he kept it at Rafe’s place, where it was safe, where it wouldn’t end up in pieces on the floor. I bought a bass with my first real paycheck that summer, not because I wanted to be onstage, but because I wanted to stay close. To watch his back, make sure he wasn’t alone, wasn’t taking punches anymore. That I stood there, in between him and all the pain he’d known too well.

That’s when the thought hits me as I watch everyone walk ahead of me. Everything I do is for someone else, but no one ever asks what I think, what I want.

We’re almost at customs when Natalia glances back, her eyes catching mine through the moving crowd. They don’t accuse, dismiss or expect me to hold the whole world together and never ask for anything in return.

They keep asking me what I want.

Every time.

I’m not sure how much longer I can pretend I don’t have an answer.

Chapter 14

Felt Like Flying

Kiri

The hour before a show is always the quietest part of my day. There’s movement everywhere, crew voices bleeding through walls, cases rolling across concrete, cables snapping into place, but internally, something settles. My body knows what’s coming long before my head catches up.

I sit on the edge of the bench in the dressing room, bass resting against my thigh. I run my fingers along the strings once, not playing, just checking the tension. Steady, tight. Exactly where it should be.

Behind me, Rithy paces with his headphones on, mouthing lyrics, hands slicing the air like he’s conducting something only he can hear. Ronan is stretched out on the floor with his sticks crossed over him, eyes closed, tapping out a rhythm against his chest. Rafe leans against the mirror, phone abandoned on the counter, staring through his own reflection like he’s already onstage. No one’s nervous. That’s how I know the show is gonna be good.

Someone knocks and the crew calls out, five minutes. Ronan pops up in a single practiced movement. Rithy yanks off his headphones, grinning at nothing in particular, adrenaline already doing its work. Rafe straightens, cracks his neck once, and looks at us.

“Ready?”

We don’t answer. We’ve never needed to.

Backstage reeks of dust, hot metal, and the faint ozone bite of overworked equipment. The rumble of the crowd presses through the walls like a living thing. I sling my bass over my shoulder and feel the old weight settle along my spine. As we line up to walk out, Rafe glances back at me. Not checking anything, just acknowledging. The look says, You with me? and I nod. Always.

The lights drop and the roar of the crowd hits like a monsoon. We step into it together. The first note lands and something in me locks into place. There’s no effort or control, only surrender. My hands move without asking permission, years of this taking over as the bassline threads itself into the core of the song. Ronan locks in immediately, his kick and snare breathing with me, and suddenly we’re not four people anymore. We’re one thing, one entity, moving.

Rafe’s voice cuts through the room, raw and clear, hitting every line exactly where it needs to. Rithy’s guitar slides around it, brittle then warm, answering instead of competing. There’s a moment where everything drops half a breath and opens again, and we fall into that space like it’s been waiting for us.

I don’t think about Natalia’s lips, or the way Signe touched her. Not about last night or tomorrow.

I think about space, pressure and restraint. About knowing when to stay silent and when to push. I catch Ronan’s eye during the bridge and he grins, wide and primal, because he feels it too. Rafe glances back mid-verse and lifts his chin slightly. Not a cue but a sign of trust. Rithy steps closer without looking, shoulder brushing mine as he leans into a harmony.

The crowd disappears. Time stretches and bends in on itself. Songs bleed into each other, each transition smooth, every ending earned. There’s no fighting or forcing the sound tonight. The music moves like water around rocks we’ve spent years learning to navigate.

During the last chorus, I close my eyes. I don’t do that often but the bass vibrates through my chest, the stage vibrates under my boots, and for a few perfect seconds I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. No past or future, just this, just now.

The final note hits right. No scramble or crash, just that perfect sound followed by silence, and then the crowd explodes. We stand there, breathless and lit up from the inside, before Ronan whoops and tosses a stick skyward. Rithy laughs, high on adrenaline. Rafe turns, eyes wild, and pulls us all in without hesitation.

“Fuck,” he says, grinning. “That was… yeah.”

Backstage again, sweat still cooling on my skin, Ronan claps me on the shoulder hard enough to make me rock forward. “You were locked in tonight.”

Rithy nods, still riding the high. “That pocket? Oyy! Felt like flying.”

Rafe meets my eyes, no theatrics, just quiet certainty. “That was us, The Fucking Riven Altar.”

Something tightens in my chest at that, full of pride and belonging. The kind that settles deep and dangerous because it makes you realize exactly how much there is to lose. I wipe my hands on a towel, steadying my breath as the noise around us turns into laughter, plans for food, the familiar aftershow chaos. Somewhere down the hall, I hear Natalia laugh, bright and distant, and instinct pulls me toward the sound.

I don’t move this time. I stay where I am, bass still warm against my body, surrounded by the only structure that’s ever held, my brothers, my family, the band.

The ramen arrives in stages. First the smell, garlic and soy and something sweet and smoky blooming through the hallway before the knock at our door even comes. Then the delivery guy appears, arms loaded with steaming containers, bowing once as I take the bags from him. I thank him and shut the door with my foot.