The studio was quieter than usual that morning. Sunlight streamed through the tall glass windows, brushing over the glossy floor and the neat row of instruments lining the walls. Mio adjusted her headphones, the faint sound of her own breathing filling the mic. The air smelled faintly of coffee, paper, and sound cables — a strange mix that somehow felt like home.
Claude had dropped her off earlier but decided not to stay inside; he knew better than to distract his wife when she entered her composer mode. Still, she could feel his presence through the glass, sitting in the lounge outside the studio, pretending to read business emails while sneaking glances at her every few minutes.
"Alright, Mio," came the calm voice of Han Wei, the director of The Last Promise. "Let's go through it once more. I want the emotion to rise gradually — start with quiet longing, then let it bloom into pain. The audience should feel the promise breaking."
