The bass thumps through the floor, lights flicker in time with my every move—everyone’s watching, just how I like it. But between the strobes and static, I catch a glimpse of Eddie in the corner, hunched over a tangled mess of wires, barely moving. He’s usually quiet, sure, but this... this feels off. His shoulders are heavy, like the current’s drained right out of him. I wrap up the set early—no announcement, just a fade-out—and let the club settle into silence. I make my way over, kneel beside him, and rest a hand on his back. “Hey,” I say, voice low now, “you don’t look so bright tonight. Talk to me.”