Page 1

Chapter One

Hayden

Letting The Cables Sleep

Bush

There’s a difference between noise and rhythm.Most people don’t understand that.Noise is reaction.It’s uncontrolled.It spills and fills space without purpose, without direction.It’s loud for the sake of being loud.Rhythm on the other hand is intentional.It’s measured and contained.

Mikey’s playing noise.I let him go for longer than I should.Not because I don’t hear it.I hear everything.Every strike that lands a fraction too hard, every fill that rushes ahead of the beat like he’s trying to outrun something sitting in his chest.The tempo wavers just enough that no one else would call it out.At least, not yet.

But it’s there.And it’s getting worse.I push off the wall and step toward the kit.“You’re too loud.”

He spins a stick between his fingers, flashing that easy grin that works on everyone who doesn’t look closely enough.“Rock n’ roll drummer.”

“Not like that you aren’t.”

I adjust the mic.Not because it needs it, but because I need a second to think.To decide how much to say.How far to push.

When I straighten, my eyes lock on his.“You’re pushing too hard.”

He shrugs.“Trying something different.”

Luc calls it after that.Good.It would’ve gone downhill fast if we kept going.I don’t say anything else until I’m outside.I wait until he walks through the door and then speak.“You’re coming with me.”

It’s not a question, yet, he hesitates.I know it’s pride, but he swallows it and follows me anyway.I think it’s because he’s curious where the hell I might be taking him.

I drive.I always drive.The city moves around us in controlled lines of light and motion.Traffic signals and patterns with predictable systems.Everything where it’s supposed to be.It’s the only reason it works.

Mikey shifts beside me, restless energy contained in muscle and bone, but not in mind.He doesn’t know how to sit still in silence.I don’t fill it for him.Some lessons just need to be experienced and not taught.

I pull up to our destination.The building doesn’t announce itself.That’s part of the appeal.From the outside, it’s forgettable.It’s red industrial brick; just another structure in a city full of them.Inside, it’s something else entirely.Low light.Dark leather.Clean lines.Conversations that don’t travel further than they’re meant to.Music that doesn’t compete, it coils and wraps around the room instead of filling it.Everything here has intention.Everything here is controlled.

I take a seat at the bar.Mikey sits next to me.I order without looking.I don’t need a menu.I don’t need options.Mikey asks for tequila.Of course he does.“You’ve lost control,” I watch the amber in my glass shift with the movement of my hand.

He lets out a chuff of disgust.“You sound like my fucking dad.”

“You react to everything.”I take a slow sip.“You let people pull you.You let noise decide for you.”

“I’m fine.”He’s not.He knows he’s not.That’s the problem.

“You’re not.Stop pretending you are.”I set my glass down with quiet precision.“You need to stop listening to the noise or it’s going to swallow you whole.”

“You think telling me that is helpful?”He scoffs, rolling his eyes in disdain.

I let a slow breath escape before I speak.“You either take control of it, or it will take control of you.”

Sasha approaches like she always does.No hesitation.No uncertainty.Her fingers brush my wrist and it’s light, deliberate.A question, not an assumption.Good girl.I turn my head slightly, meeting her eyes.Holding them.That’s where it starts.Always.She doesn’t look away.

I lean in just enough that my voice doesn’t travel.A few quiet words.Direction, not demand.She nods once, takes a few steps away, then drops to her knees to wait.I stand, adjusting my jacket, attention returning briefly to Mikey, his face a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“You think that kind of control is what I need?”His chin cocking toward Sasha.

“You don’t need what I do,” I tell him.

His gaze flits around the room, toward the subtle shifts of power he doesn’t fully understand yet.“No,” he mutters.

No, you don’t.But you do need something.“You know what you want,” I add, meeting his eyes one last time.“You just have to ask for it.”