Page 10 of Siren

A beat of silence. Then Dre let out a slow whistle.

“Shit,” Tay muttered. “Not them tryna throw you into the deep end of the algorithm.”

“Man,” Deuce said, sitting up, “you bagged the SiennaRay? That’s like dating a Grammy and a centerfold at the same time.”

Rico fanned his face like he was catching the Holy Ghost. “That woman fine in real life or Photoshop fine?”

I smirked. “She fine-fine. Like, stop breathing for a second fine.”

“She can sang, too,” Dre added, voice suddenly serious. “Ain’t too many left like that.”

“She got presence,” I said. “But they’re not talking about music. They want smoke and mirrors. Fake chemistry, visual rollouts. They want the illusion.”

Dre leaned forward, elbows on knees. “And what do you want?”

I paused.

“To make something honest,” I said. “To not be a headline in somebody else’s rollout. I spent too long building this lane. Quiet, maybe. But it’s mine.”

They all nodded. Not fast. Not performative. Because they knew.

“You ever feel like you’re watching your life instead of living it?” I asked.

Deuce passed me another Gatorade. “Only every damn day.”

We sat in that.

These weren’t just my boys. These were the ones who knew what I sacrificed. Who heard the early beats. Who remembered the late nights stacking sounds—not sleeping in basements, I had a bed—but still grinding like I didn’t.

They saw me. Not the name. Not the streams.

Me.

My phone buzzed.

Jalen: You’re confirmed for the gallery tonight. 6PM sharp. She’ll be there.

My stomach tightened. Not nerves. Not exactly. Just… something real shifting under my skin.

She hadn’t reached out since this collab had been set up. I hadn’t expected her to.

But now it was real and my name would be beside hers.

FOUR

The plane touched down in Pittsburgh just after noon.

I didn’t unpack—because I wasn’t staying long—just long enough to lay the vocals down. Or longer, if I felt like pretending to care about the city beyond this meeting. I’d lived in places like this before. Cities that dressed like underdogs and moved like they had something to prove.

It remindedme of who I used to be. Before the award shows and the playlists. Before people knew my name but still knew my lyrics by heart.

I checked into the hotel, took a hot shower, and sat in silence for twenty minutes—robe on, hair pinned, legs folded beneath me on the edge of the bed. I wasn’t nervous.

But I wasn’t still, either.

I’d called my mom the night before. Jasmine too. Two different kinds of wisdom, same message.

Jasmine was warmth and honesty, always coming at me like a mirror I could trust.

---