When the track finally spiraled into its hollow, echoing outro, Elias turned and walked back into the shadows. He still hadn't said a word, but the whole room knew exactly who was talking.

As the remix hit its peak—a whirlwind of hyper-kinetic percussion and soaring synth leads—Elias locked eyes with Marcus. He didn't need to say a word. The music, stripped of its polished pop veneer and replaced with modern, floor-shaking defiance, said it all for him.

Across the circle, his old rival, Marcus, watched in disbelief. Marcus had spent years telling anyone who would listen that Elias had lost his edge, that he was a relic.