The door to the recording booth clicked open, and Izan stepped out, dragging a hand down his face.
He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly as if he still couldn't believe what just happened.
"How," he muttered under his breath, glancing back at the studio, "did things even get to this?"
As if on cue, his phone started buzzing in his pocket.
He fished it out, and Miranda's name lit up the screen.
"Of course," he said dryly before answering. "You have perfect timing, you know that?"
On the other end, Miranda's voice came bright and smooth, too cheerful to be guilt-free.
"The people just called," she said.
"They said you finished already. And that you did a great job."
Izan raised a brow.
"Oh, did they now?"
He adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder.
"You know, for someone who's suddenly so reachable, it's funny how my calls couldn't get through all morning. One went straight to voicemail, the other just rang till it died."
