"Next up," the emcee called, voice ringing through the gym,
"...a duet from Alex Dunphy and Elias Reed."
The crowd stirred.
A few people actually cheered. Some whispered.
Eli Hart was still a rumor.
But everyone in that gym was waiting to see if the ghost had a face.
Backstage, Alex exhaled once. Short. Controlled.
Then she looked at him.
Elias was still against the wall, one hand at his side, the other gripping the strap of his guitar case like it was anchoring him to the earth.
He hadn't moved.
"You coming?" she asked quietly.
He didn't answer.
Didn't nod.
Didn't blink.
Alex took a step toward the light spilling in from the stage.
Then paused.
"If you're not ready," she said, turning just slightly, "I'll go alone."
Still nothing.
The sound of applause faded behind the curtains.
"Say something."
Elias raised his head slowly.
He looked at her.
Really looked.
And for a moment, there was no audience. No stage. No lyrics.
Just a girl standing in the hallway, waiting.
And a boy with too many words locked behind his ribs.
"Don't," he said quietly.
Alex stilled.
"Don't go without me."
Then he stepped forward, unzipping the case, slinging the guitar over his shoulder with fingers that trembled once before settling.
She didn't smile.
Neither did he.
But when they stepped out into the light — side by side — the room went still.
And somewhere inside Elias, the door cracked open.