Adam's vacation began in the same way that salvation always did: quietly and suspiciously, as if the world were waiting for the punchline.
The contract with Damian Lyon was coming to an end. The last show had been clean, the last set list filed, and the last security debrief endured. And when the final paperwork was signed and the last venue doors closed behind him, Adam had expected to feel triumphant.
Instead, he felt… hollow.
A year and a half of touring without real breaks did that to a person. A year and a half of turning art into a schedule, joy into an operation, and adrenaline into a resource to be spent and replenished and spent again until the body stopped believing rest was allowed.
He still loved singing. He still loved the stage lights, the crowd, and the moment a room became one breath.
But Damian had a talent for turning everything into military procedure, and Adam was bone-deep tired of being treated like both a morale booster and a liability.
