Gjesti_x_albos_prap_tthirri -

"Every time I think the song is finished, the phone rings," Albos muttered, finally turning the screen off. "It’s like she knows."

By dawn, the track was done. The phone sat silent on the desk, the screen dark. They didn't need to block the number anymore; they had turned the noise into music.

He walked over to the mic and signaled for Albos to pull up the beat. The track started with a lonely, filtered guitar—cold and echoing.

The voice came from the shadows of the booth. stepped out, adjusting his headphones. He had been watching Albos stare at the screen for the last hour. There was no judgment in his tone, only the weary understanding of someone who had lived through the same lyrics they were trying to write.