I brought the notebook to my bedroom and sat at my desk. It fell open to the unfinished lyrics of UNLABELED.
Scratched-out phrases crowded the margins. Melody notes ran along the top of the page, followed by reminders from Trainer Song.
Don't push. Let the sound fall forward.
Think about why the sentence matters.
The arrangement I'd worked on remained on the production tablet inside the compound. I'd had no personal phone there; when I left, all I could bring was what I'd managed to copy by hand. No backing track. No recordings. Just lyrics, a few notes, and whatever I remembered.
I hummed the opening melody, stopped, and tried again. The third attempt sounded close enough that I could hear Trainer Song correcting my phrasing.
Two days ago, I'd closed this notebook because there seemed little point finishing a song I might never perform.
Now I wasn't so sure.
