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He had long since stopped feeding the cameras with a fake smile. He wasn’t a clown but a poet. Plus he was a serious person by nature. And given the current circumstances, he had no reason to laugh anyway. So he didn’t care that the others present also asked for a photo. He would never refuse anyone a snapshot who asked politely. Far worse were those who snapped pictures without asking—people who had no manners and assumed a rock star wouldn’t care.

“Thanks! Guys! Really appreciate it!”

Tristan exchanged a brief glance with Andrej. He wasn’t someone who pushed himself into the spotlight, but because he and Tristan did most of the interviews together, he had also gotten used to the attention.

“What would you like to drink?” Clint asked, gesturing toward the wooden table. A big microphone sat in the middle, surrounded by water bottles and a tray of empty glasses. “Or maybe a beer, if you prefer.”

“I’ll take one,” Andrej said, heading to a chair. “Where should I sit?”

“Right there is great,” Clint replied. “And you, Tristan? What can I get you?”

“Orange juice, please.” Tristan placed his sunglasses back on. “Thanks.”

The server, who had been lurking in the background, disappeared into the building.

“Excuse me,” a woman from the radio team said as she approached him. She clipped a small microphone to his shirt collar and did the same to Andrej.

“Wasn’t Carol supposed to be here too?” Tristan asked Andrej.

“Yeah, she was supposed to be. Might be stuck in traffic.”

“Okay,” Clint said, also attaching a small microphone to his collar and sitting down with them at the round table. “We have a few minutes left. Anna will switch to us at two o’clock. If it’s okay with you, we’ll split the interview into three segments. We’ll play your songs in between, so overall, I think … maybe 40 to 45 minutes? Maximum. Does that sound good?”

Tristan gave a thumbs-up and was relieved when the waitress brought his orange juice. Andrej had picked him up way too early, but it gave them the chance to grab some tacos before heading to the interview. But the food was so salty that he couldn’t drink enough to quench his thirst. After Andrej drank his beer, he poured himself and Tristan a glass of water.

The intern emerged and handed Clint a pair of headphones, which he didn’t put on. He was busy leafing through his little notepad, as he absentmindedly pushed up his black horn-rimmed glasses, looking like a nerd.

“Okay,” the technician said as he held up his hand to get everyone’s attention. “Anna is live.”

Clint pressed one of the ear cups to his ear. Anna’s voice came through the other one so loudly that Tristan could hear her across the table. That explained why Clint hadn’t put the headphones on completely.

“Finally, the moment has come!” exclaimed the radio host. “Paradise Rock in an interview with Nightstalker! I’m already excited and can hardly wait. Clint! Are you there?”

“Hello, Anna!” Clint’s voice sounded professional; the fanboy was gone. “We’re here!”

“Don’t keep us in suspense any longer, Clint! Who. Is. Here?”

“I’m here with Tristan James and Andrej Novak from Nightstalker. We’re having beers and … well … we’re ready.”

“Then let’s go!” Anna exclaimed.

Clint finally put the headphones down on the table and smiled. “Yes, let’s get started! Hello, you two! You can’t imagine how excited I was when I got the confirmation for this interview. I feel totally honored to meet you. How are you?”

“Good,” Andrej replied in a casual tone. “Been a crazy couple of weeks. But things are starting to calm down.”

“Crazy weeks, you can say that again.” Clint winked, as if he knew—which he probably did. Thankfully, he had signed that waiver for the interview. “Tristan, how are you doing? What happened a few weeks ago really messed up the whole album launch.”

“Yeah.” Tristan cleared his throat. “Um … It’s been a lot,” he admitted, suppressing the emerging memories of Milo, the night in jail, and the disastrous album release. Suddenly, the time in the clinic seemed like a place of peace, a quiet oasis. Hard to believe that a desperate suicide attempt had preceded it. “It was all pretty crazy.”

“Let’s dive right into your new album, Witherin’ Limits in Silverlight. I have to confess, I’m blown away. Every single song is amazing, a masterpiece! Tell me, how did the songs come about?”

Andrej extended his arm, inviting Tristan to take the floor and share his thoughts.

“I’d like to claim that the songs were created similarly to the first album, but unfortunately, that’s not the case,” Tristan replied. “We were on tour for almost a year, and the label started pushing us to come up with new songs quickly, but our attempts didn’t go well. So, we made a decision not to discuss the next album until the tour ended. That relieved the pressure on all of us, and I was able to write new lyrics peacefully.”

“But …” Clint briefly glanced at his notes. “You just finished your big Acid tour five months ago. Are you trying to tell me …?”

“We came home, relaxed for a week or two, and then met again in the rehearsal room. I had material for more than thirty songs, Leaf was bursting with ideas, and Andrej and José were unstoppable.”