Morning arrived not with softness this time, but with noise.
Real noise.
The kind that rattled windows and shook the quiet right out of Vale Studio.
At first, Lian thought he was dreaming — the faint rumble of voices drifting through sleep. But then he heard it clearly: the muffled roar of a crowd, screaming names, shouting questions, chanting something he couldn't make out through the walls.
He blinked awake on the studio couch, curled beneath a thin blanket. Someone had draped it over him. He didn't need to guess who.
His legs were stiff. His throat dry. His chest warm in that comfortable way only exhaustion and safety could create.
And then Rian's voice cut through the noise.
"Lian. Wake up."
Lian sat up quickly, blanket slipping off. "What's happening?"
