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Silence. Deafening, loaded silence.

“I don’t want to leave her.” His voice cracks like splitting timber, quiet but gutting.

“You won’t. Not really.” I step in, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be gone for a few days at a time, but you’ll be back. She needs you steady, not shattered.”

Carson clears his throat. “We’re with you, man. We’ll make it work.”

Benji tosses the hay down, eyes locking on Thorin’s. “We’re not doing this tour without you. But we’re also not watching you fall apart.”

Thorin finally stops pacing. His shoulders sag, weight of the world pressing down. He nods once. Just once. But it’s enough to mean I hear you. I’ll try.

It’s not perfect. But maybe it doesn’t have to be.

We meet Alex in the den of the main house.

No instruments. No distractions. Just four guys in various stages of burnout, and Alex, pacing with his iPad like he’s preparing to defend a murder suspect instead of organizing a rock tour.

Thorin sits across from me on the leather couch, elbows on his knees, gaze steady but wrecked. Benji’s beside him, arms folded, while Carson sprawls on the floor, legs out, back against the wall, looking like he hasn’t slept in a week.

Alex stops pacing. “So let me make sure I’ve got this straight.”

Here we go.

“Three shows in New York—MSG, Barclays, and Beacon—then you fly home, Thorin. You’ll be off for six days. We pick up again with Philly, Boston, and Baltimore. Another break. Then you rejoin for the Southern run—Atlanta, Nashville, and New Orleans.”

“Correct,” I say, sitting forward. “We keep the full band intact for every show, but give Thorin time home between the legs. He’s not missing any major venue. We lose zero dates.”

Alex frowns, fingers tapping against the screen. “That’s going to mean a lot of back-and-forth flying. And press rescheduling.”

“Yeah,” I say. “But we’ve done worse.”

Carson grunts in agreement. “Remember Mexico?”

Benji shudders. “Don’t bring up Mexico.”

Alex sighs through his nose, but his tone softens. “This plan’s… actually solid. Tour’s intact. Thorin gets to be with Reese. The breaks were already built in—we just didn’t know we’d need them like this.”

I glance over at Thorin. “It’s not perfect.”

“No,” he rasps. “But it’s something.”

Benji leans forward, elbows on his knees. “We’ll handle setup and sound checks when he’s not there. We’ve got his back.”

Carson smirks. “I’ll even do the interviews if I have to.”

“You? Media?” Alex raises an eyebrow.

“I’m charming as hell under pressure.”

Thorin lets out something that’s almost a laugh. Just a little cracked around the edges.

Alex finally nods. “Okay. I’ll inform the label. We’ll prep backup for the shows in case of emergency, but as of now—tour’s on. We move forward with this plan.”

Relief ripples through the room. It’s muted—still weighed down by everything that came before—but it’s there. Like the moment you realize the worst part of the storm has passed, even if the sky’s still gray.

I lean back, exhaling for what feels like the first time in hours.

We’re still in the fight.