Page 6 of Bound By Song

I don’t say the words that are on the tip of my tongue - that’s it’s nearly Christmas, that we have plans, havefamiliesto spend it with, because they all know it would be a lie. We’re a pack - all we have is each other.

And I’m not even sure we havethatanymore.

The room falls silent as we process the gravity of the situation. Our future, both as a band and as individuals, hangs in the balance, and the path forward is uncertain at best.

DANE

It’s hard to put into words what it feels like to see everything you’ve worked for teetering on the edge of collapse. The band – my band – was never meant to fall apart this way. We were a unit, a machine, each of us a cog that made the others turn, a perfect mix of chaos and brilliance. But now? Now, it feels like we’re drifting apart, like the strings that held us together are snapping one by one.

I watch the others, the weight of their silence pressing down like a storm gathering on the horizon. Blaise looks like he’s been slapped. The remorse in his eyes from earlier has been replaced with something colder, emptier.

He’s withdrawing, and noththing good ever comes from that.

With the way the label execs spoke to Blaise – cold, detached, offering nothing but ultimatums – it’s no surprise he’s so on edge. I know what it’s like to have your back against the wall, to be treated like an object, a commodity. But this? This is different. I can feel it in the air, thick with the kind of tension you can’t escape, no matter how much you try to.

Xar sits across from him, his jaw clenched, shoulders tight, his own resentment simmering just under the surface. He’s pissed. Hell, we all are. But I know him better than anyone – he doesn’t show it easily. Not like Blaise. Xar’s rage is quiet, calculated, and when it does explode...it does so with the force of a freight train.

We’re being sent off to Silver Sands, some remote hellhole in North Devon, as if the label thinks we can just…fix ourselves out there. As if isolating us from everything and everyone will magically make the music come back, will make everything right again, will mend the strained bonds between us. But I know better. I’ve been trying to hold us together on this tour – barely. And I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. But I do know it’ll take a hell of a lot more than isolation, good intentions and cosy cottage vibes.

I run my fingers over the edge of the table, the coldness of it seeping into my skin, grounding me in a way I don’t want to be grounded. I should be pissed, too. We’re being treated like misbehaving children. But there’s something else clawing at me – fear, maybe? Or dread? I’m not sure anymore.

Blaise might be a loose cannon, but he’sourloose cannon. The execs, even Liv, our manager, might not get it, but I do. I’ve seen what it’s like to be suffocated by your own talent, to feel like you’re spiralling out of control and not knowing how to pull yourself back. But this – this is different. The label’s making an example of him, of us all, like we’re expendable. And that’swhat’s scaring me the most. I don’t want to lose what we’ve worked so hard for.

Then there’s Xar. His cold silence is the worst part. I know him better than to think he’s just sulking, but I also know he’s this close to snapping. And if he does, if he and Blaise go head to head out there in Silver Sands, I don’t know what’s going to happen. They’re both volatile, both capable of destruction, but in completely different ways. Blaise has always been the wild card – the one who burns everything down and dares you to follow. Xar, though…Xar is the one who doesn’t need to burn anything. He’ll build something from the ashes and leave everyone else behind, never looking back. But if these two are at odds, it could be a bloodbath.

I’m supposed to be the one holding us together, the steady one, the one who keeps the ship from sinking. But right now, I’m not even sure I can keep my own head above water, let alone theirs. There’s so much pressure, so much responsibility, on my shoulders and I feel like I’m about to finally crumble under the weight.

And somehow we’re expected to come together, fix our shit,andbe creative? Fucking ridiculous. I’m not a miracle worker.

I drag my hand through my hair and glance around the room. The rest of the band – Liv included – seem like they’re all stuck in a collective daze, too stunned to say anything more. We all know what’s at stake. Our future, our careers, our relationships – it’s all hanging by a thread.

The execs leave in a flurry of polite smiles and clipped goodbyes, pretending not to notice the tension still hanging thick in the air. The second the door closes behind them, the silence shifts – heavier now, less rehearsed.

Liv doesn’t move.

She crosses her arms, her expression carved from stone. “Alright,” she says, sharp and cold. “Someone want to tell me what the hellreallyhappened last night?”

No one answers.

She looks between us, waiting. Daring us.

Xar doesn’t even flinch. He just says one word. “Lena.”

The silence turns radioactive.

Liv exhales through her nose like she’s trying not to explode. “Are you serious?Lena? She’s screwing with youagain?”

Literally. Or at least trying to. Vulture.

Blaise bristles, already defensive. “She’s out of the picture.”

“She better be,” Liv snaps. “Because I swear to god, if you let that girl come between you again – between theband– you’re going to burn everything you’ve built to the fucking ground and she’ll be the one handing you the lit match.”

“She’s gone,” he says, more forcefully now. “For good.”

Liv stares at him for a long moment, measuring whether she believes him. Then she nods – once, slow. “Good. Then sort your shit out before you drag us all down with you.”

With that, she turns on her heel and walks out, heels echoing like gunshots on the tile.

---