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He cashed out his meager savings, sold his vintage synthesizer (the one he’d named "Lucille"), and took out a loan that made his stomach do backflips.

Jax looked at the empty space, finally filling with the hum of energized amplifiers. "Better," he said, handing the kid a cable. "I’m opening a portal. Want to help me plug in?" buy music studio

Jax had spent ten years mixing tracks in a bedroom that smelled like old coffee and damp drywall. His "vocal booth" was a literal closet stuffed with winter coats, and his neighbors knew his bass lines better than his mother did. He cashed out his meager savings, sold his