Dante counts them in again.
"From the bridge this time," he says, tapping his stick twice against the rim.
He doesn't raise his voice.
He doesn't have to.
Everyone adjusts.
Elliot's fingers hover over the strings, waiting.
He waits half a second longer than necessary.
Just to see if Dante notices.
He does.
Their eyes meet briefly.
Dante nods once.
Elliot hates how steady he is.
They start.
The bridge is tight this time. Clean. Even. Controlled.
Dante slows them slightly near the end with a subtle shift in rhythm.
It works.
It sounds better.
Elliot notices immediately.
He also resents it immediately.
The final note fades.
Dante rolls his shoulders and says, "That tempo's better. Keep it there."
Not suggesting.
Stating.
Elliot lets out a small breath through his nose. "Yeah, well. We could push it live."
"Not there," Dante replies calmly. "It loses weight if you rush it."
Elliot smiles.
The kind that looks easy.
The kind that isn't.
"Oh, sorry. Didn't realize we were in music theory class."
Adrian exhales sharply like he's trying not to react.
Mia pretends to adjust her strings.
Roxanne doesn't say anything.
Dante doesn't either.
He just looks at Elliot for a second.
Then: "I'm not saying don't experiment. I'm saying this section needs space."
He turns to Roxanne. "You feel it too, right?"
And she nods.
"Yes."
Just like that.
Elliot's stomach tightens.
Of course she agrees.
Why wouldn't she?
He shifts the guitar strap higher on his shoulder.
"I could lead this," he thinks.
The thought arrives sharp and immediate.
I wrote half the early songs. I built the sound. I—
But he doesn't finish the thought.
Because it feels childish even inside his own head.
Dante didn't steal anything.
The band voted.
Unanimous.
That's what makes it worse.
He leans back against the amp casually. "You just like control."
Dante shrugs. "Someone has to keep it tight."
It's not an insult.
That's the problem.
If Dante was arrogant, Elliot could push back.
If he was condescending, Elliot could fight.
But he's not.
He's calm.
Measured.
Correct.
And that correctness feels suffocating.
They run the section again.
Elliot keeps tempo.
Keeps it clean.
Doesn't overplay.
It sounds good.
It sounds better.
He hates that it sounds better.
At the end, Dante nods once. "That's it."
That's it.
Simple.
No applause.
No debate.
Everyone seems… aligned.
Roxanne looks satisfied.
Satisfied.
Elliot feels something twist.
He tells himself it's stupid.
It's just rehearsal.
But he remembers—
Sixteen.
Garage practice.
He'd been the loudest one in the room.
He'd set the pace.
Started the songs.
Counted them in.
Roxanne used to look at him when she was unsure.
Now she looks at Dante.
He laughs suddenly, breaking the silence.
"So what, are we renaming the band 'Dante and the Responsible Decisions'?"
Adrian snorts despite himself.
Sienna smiles openly.
Dante doesn't react.
Roxanne looks at him again.
That look... assessing.
"Don't do that," she says quietly.
He straightens. "Do what?"
"Turn everything into a joke."
He shrugs. "I was joking."
"I know."
That's worse.
He doesn't like how she sees through him.
He doesn't like that she doesn't laugh with him the way she used to.
Dante steps back from the kit and grabs a bottle of water.
"We'll tighten the outro tomorrow," he says, already moving on.
Already leading.
The others nod.
They listen.
Elliot watches it happen.
Watches how naturally Dante fills space.
How no one questions him.
How Roxanne doesn't hesitate.
"I could lead this."
The thought comes back stronger this time.
But under it, quieter:
Would they follow?
He grips the neck of his guitar tighter than necessary.
The crack near the body edge presses into his palm.
He doesn't loosen his hold.
Across the room, Roxanne is saying something to Dante about rearranging the second verse.
He catches fragments.
"Layered vocals."
"Give it space."
"Let it breathe."
Let it breathe.
He feels like he's the only one not breathing.
Sienna's voice cuts in lightly from the wall. "It does sound cleaner when Dante runs tempo."
It's not cruel.
It's observational.
But it lands.
He flashes her a grin. "Wow. Betrayal already."
She smirks. "Just being honest."
Honest.
That word feels loaded lately.
He doesn't respond.
Instead he slings the guitar back into position.
"Run it again," he says, louder than Dante did earlier.
No one objects.
They follow.
The realization settles heavy and unwanted:
They follow whoever sounds certain.
Dante always sounds certain.
Elliot isn't sure if he ever has.