The studio was quieter than it used to be.
Not because people were absent. Everyone was still there. Engineers behind the console. Assistants moving in and out. Artists sitting with notebooks and water bottles. Staff checking cables and screens. The same setup.
The difference was in the air.
A few weeks ago, every small mistake used to make the room stiff. Even breathing too loud felt like a problem. Now, the fear had reduced. People still took Dayo seriously, but it was different. They respected him. They understood him. They knew what he wanted, and most of them had started to meet him there.
Dayo stood in front of the main monitor and looked at the tracker on the screen.
Twelve songs.
Ten were already marked as completed.
Only two remained.
