"Wow," Lyra muttered, sliding onto the bench beside Levi. "It's a lot chattier here than I thought it'd be."
Levi looked up, smile lazy, pulling her into a side hug. "Hey, Lyra."
"Yoooo, let's goooo," Spencer called out, throwing up a peace sign.
Goldie grinned. "Told you we'd be here early. You owe me five, Michelle."
Michelle scowled. "I never agreed to that bet."
"Yes, you did," Goldie said, wagging her finger. "You said, and I quote, 'They're always late, bet five they miss it.'"
Michelle rolled her eyes. "Fine. But you're not getting it in cash."
"Ugh, keep it," Goldie said. "I don't want your broke energy."
Spencer chuckled. "Can y'all chill for one morning? Damn."
Lyra leaned her head on Levi's shoulder. "Can't believe we made it to Band-In. Thought I'd be dead by now."
Levi smiled softly. "Same. But hey, still breathing."
"Barely," Michelle added, pointing at Lyra's dark circles. "You look like you haven't slept in five years."
"I haven't, and you can guess who caused that," Lyra said.
Goldie gasped. "You still on that? But we trauma bonded. And hey, you brushed your teeth."
"I did," Lyra said, deadpan. "With a pill."
Spencer laughed. "Mint flavor?"
"Regret," Lyra replied.
Camille shook her head with a tiny smile. "Y'all are something else."
Then Lyra, still a little fuzzy from earlier, pulled out the pill bottle like it was lip gloss. Didn't say anything, just popped it open and shook one into her hand.
Goldie's eyes went wide. "Are you serious right now?"
Lyra shrugged. "What?"
"Girl, it's 8 in the morning," Goldie hissed. "You're high already. Why do you need more?"
Lyra stared at her. "Because I'm still awake."
Michelle scoffed, flipping her braids over her shoulder. "Can't wait till she's knocked out when she gets called up. Iconic."
Spencer just laughed. "Nah, she'd still play better than half the Cursed in this room."
Camille, sitting at the edge like always, leaned forward. "You know, you really shouldn't depend on pills like that. They mess with your nerves. And with your—"
All of them turned to her at once.
"No one asked, Camille," Michelle said.
"Literally no one," Goldie echoed.
Lyra just threw the pill in her mouth and leaned back like nothing happened.
"Let her live," Levi said, pulling out his own bottle.
Goldie's eyes snapped to him. "You too?!"
Levi popped the cap, took a pill, then leaned his head back, eyes closed. "We all cope how we cope."
"That's not coping," Camille muttered.
Michelle sighed. "Camille, you lecture one more time and I swear to God—"
"Okay, okay!" Camille said, hands up. "I'm done."
Marius Cael Rhone, the Virtuoso—the most powerful Cursed in the entire country—stepped forward with the kind of presence that made the whole hall quiet down without a word.
His cane tapped slowly against the polished floor, matching the rhythm of his boots. He wore an old-fashioned coat, long and heavy, with a wide-brimmed hat casting a shadow over his wrinkled face.
He didn't look like someone who should still be alive. But there he was.
"Yo," Lyra muttered, squinting like the world was slightly tilted. "Isn't that old bald guy from the entrance ceremony? What's his deal? Why's he still breathing?"
Levi leaned back lazily, arms crossed behind his head. "Yeah, for real. I thought we all had a death timer or somethin'. Isn't 35 the upper limit? I mean.... drop dead already."
Goldie tilted her head. "He looks way past 35…"
Spencer turned around from the seat in front, raising a brow. "Man's gotta be at least 40. Maybe 42."
Levi side-eyed Camille. "Alright, bookworm. Your cue."
Michelle smirked and chimed in, "Yeah, nerd girl. Don't leave us dumb."
Camille rolled her eyes but still sat up straighter. "Okay, fine. The curse doesn't just randomly kill you at 35. It drains your soul. Like, slowly. Constantly. That's why most people don't make it past that age."
She glanced at the stage. "But people with really strong souls—like seriously strong, mentally and emotionally—they can slow it down. Not stop it. Just hold it off."
Lyra blinked slowly. "So like… what? He meditates and hopes for the best?"
Camille nodded. "Kinda. You have to stay completely stable—emotionally, mentally. No panic attacks, no breakdowns, no slip-ups. One moment of relapse and boom—the curse catches up. Drains what's left."
Goldie looked shook. "So if you even flinch emotionally…"
"You lose," Camille finished.
Spencer whistled. "Damn. So old baldy's just built different."
"Yeah," Camille corrected. "He's the only one who ever pulled it off without going insane. There were others—some lived till 38, 39. But they all cracked. One guy stabbed his own band on stage. Another just walked into the ocean."
Levi leaned forward. "So this dude's basically willpower with a cane?"
"Pretty much," Camille said.
Michelle leaned in, grinning. "Okay but like… he still bald."
They all laughed. Even Lyra cracked the smallest grin. But under all that, none of them could shake the thought—
"So this is our only other option."
Something dropped straight through, landing hard on one of the Band-In students. There was a loud crunch. Then silence. He didn't move. Blood spread out across the floor.
Its veins turned darker—slow, creeping, like something was crawling through them. Like it was pulling something in. Draining it. You couldn't see what exactly… but you could feel it. Like a vibe shutting. Like the air got colder. All of the students were terrified.
Then the thing stood up.
It wasn't human. But not fully animal either. It looked like a man twisted into a wolf. A werewolf. Its eyes glowed red, sharp and malicious. One look at its face was enough to freeze people—some students dropped to the ground without a word.
But the worst part was its song. They all heard it—not through speakers, not from outside. It was like the sound was inside them. Crawling under their skin. Twisting something deep.
They couldn't explain why. But they hated it.