??????? ???? || ???? ????? ???????

[~ Time Skip ~ ]

The walls were humming.

Not from machinery, not from the buzzing lights or the distant traffic of the arena's back corridors — but from them.

Their voices, their energy, their rhythm.

You could feel it pulse through the plaster, a low thrum that filled the silence of the dressing room like distant thunder.

You sat alone on the long bench in front of the vanity mirrors, hood up, elbows resting on your knees. The sound of the crowd was muffled through the walls, but you could still feel the tremble of their cheers, the force of it like a living thing.

A monitor in the corner streamed the live feed from the stage.

Rumi. Mira. Zoey

Drenched in glittering sweat and neon lights, they danced like they'd been born for this, like the world hadn't once nearly ended with fire and fangs. Like they hadn't fought shoulder to shoulder through hell and blood. Like they weren't more warrior than idol.

You watched them move in perfect time, voices raised in harmony. Mira twirled into a wink that made the front row lose their minds. Zoey flashed a smirk with razor-sharp charisma, fingers slicing the air like her presence alone was a weapon. Rumi held the center like a silent storm — poised, calm, and burning from within.

They were everything the world wanted them to be.

And more.

You should've been proud.

And you were.

But...

Your fingers curled tighter around the water bottle in your hands.

That stage — that bright, howling world — it didn't belong to you.

You had no mic. No spotlight. No rehearsals or dance formations.

No screams of adoration with your name in them.

You were the shadow behind the curtain. The fourth member who never signed the contract. Who only stepped into the light when the monsters came out to play.

You weren't made for sequins and choreography.

You were made to end things.

You lowered your gaze.

Not in shame.

Just... reality.

That was the truth. You'd accepted it a long time ago.

But as the screen flickered with a close-up of Zoey singing her verse, her eyes fierce, her voice steady — you felt it again.

That small sting in the center of your chest.