By the time morning reached the studio, Luna had already filled half a notebook.
She came in wearing the same tired determination Dayo had seen on her face the night before. Her hair was tied back carelessly, her eyes were slightly swollen from lack of sleep, and she carried the notebook against her chest as if someone might steal the thought if she loosened her grip.
Dayo arrived behind her with two coffees and the quiet guilt of a man who knew he was partly responsible for her not sleeping.
Wayne was already in the control room, which was never a good sign for anyone's peace. He sat barefoot on the chair, headphones crooked around his neck, a bowl of cereal balanced on the mixing desk where it absolutely did not belong.
Amanda stood near the far wall, reading a schedule on her tablet. She looked up when Luna entered, and whatever she had planned to say disappeared the moment she saw her artist's face.
"You wrote," Amanda said.
Luna dropped her bag on the couch. "Too much."
