He realized then why the album had never been released. It wasn’t a collection of songs; it was a frequency.

The song ended with a sharp, sudden silence. The violet file icon vanished from his desktop, leaving no trace it had ever existed.

As soon as he hit play, the tinny speakers of his laptop didn't just emit sound—they breathed. A heavy, rhythmic bassline kicked in that felt less like music and more like a physical pulse thumping against his ribcage. Jody’s voice, silk-smooth and haunting, filled the room: "Can you feel the current? Can you feel the spark?"

Then, there it was. A dead-link on an archived fan page flickered to life.

The lights in the cafe began to flicker in sync with the tempo. Jax tried to turn the volume down, but the slider was frozen. His skin started to prickle with static electricity; the hair on his arms stood straight up. The air smelled suddenly of ozone and expensive perfume.