CHAPTER thirty-two
Is This The End or Just the Edge?
Somewhere between San Diego and Nashville
It’s been two days since I called Reign, and still no official update.
I’ve been clinging to hope like it’s the last thread holding everything together, trusting that if anyone can pull off a miracle, it’s him.
At this pace, we’ll be in Nashville in about two days, and I’m banking on that being enough time for him to work some of his signature magic.
Finally, unable to sit in silence any longer, I shoot him a text.
Me: Any updates on Operation: Save Ramona’s Ass?
I chew nervously at the side of my nail, eyes flicking between my phone and the passing blur outside the window. It only takes a few minutes before my screen lights up.
Reign: I’m getting close, my love. What’s your ETA?
Me: Probably two days out.
Reign: I should have something solid for you by then. When you get here, bring the guys and we’ll talk.
Me: I love you so much. Thank you. I owe you my life, my heart, my firstborn, and at least a million drinks.
Reign: You owe me nothing, sweet girl. I’d do anything for you.
Hope begins to stir within me; it’s fragile, but blooming. Maybe I can fix this. Maybe I haven’t completely ruined the best thing I’ve ever stumbled into.
The guys have said we’re good, but I can still feel the weight of their disappointment like static in the air.
The bus doesn’t have its usual liveliness anymore.
Everyone has just been kind of keeping to themselves.
And the thought that I might’ve damaged the one thing Elias has fought so hard for—that I might’ve hurt the only thing that’s ever brought him peace—has wrecked me.
Since our talk, I’ve been keeping my distance from him.
Not because I want to, but because I think he needs space.
Whatever this thing is between us, it’s growing into something bigger than either of us expected.
And while it’s beautiful, it’s also terrifying.
Especially with the future still hanging in limbo.
Out of habit, I open Instagram. The first thing that pops up is a video from the most recent Hellwake show—one they played after kicking Atlas Obsidian off the tour.
It’s a close-up of the stage, Traeger front and center, still doing his best to look untouchable. He’s shirtless except for that silver pendant necklace he never takes off. But even through the haze of stage lights, I can see it, the faint, mottled bruise under his eyes, a ghost of Elias’s fist.
The camera stays focused on him for most of the clip, but just as it reaches the end, it pans toward the crowd. Or… what’s left of it.
The venue is half-empty, the energy barely flickering. Nothing like the packed crowds Atlas Obsidian played to. Back then, the rooms were alive—people screaming, sweating, singing every word.
Hellwake feels like a consolation prize now.
And that’s exactly what I knew all along: the fans weren’t here for Traeger. They were here for them. For us.
It’s midday, and we’re about an hour outside of Nashville when my phone buzzes in my lap.
Reign: Okay, lovely. I’ve got a plan. If the guys are in, we’re golden.
Me: Oh my god, I knew you’d pull it off! I love you, you mystical, magical, beautiful being.
Reign:
A grin spreads across my face before I even realize it. Hope flickers alive, warm and eager. I rise from the back lounge, walk the narrow hallway, and ease through the curtain into the front of the bus.
Elias is in the driver’s seat, hands steady on the wheel, his profile etched in focus. Even in stillness, he wears his emotions like armor—beautiful and brittle.
“Hey,” I say softly. “Would you mind dropping me off at The Riot Room? Reign’s got something he wants to show us.”
He glances quickly at me. “Yeah. Sure.”
I ease into the passenger seat, careful not to disturb the fragile silence between us.
“You doing okay?” I ask, my voice barely above the hum of the engine.
He exhales, a sound too heavy for such a simple question. “Not sure. But that’s kind of my default.”
I chew the inside of my cheek, watching him for another heartbeat. Then I lean over, press a kiss to his cheek, and slip back through the curtain, leaving him with the road and the thoughts I wish I could steal from him.
The Riot Room is dimly lit as we walk in, and the usual buzz of energy feels subdued tonight. The guys trail behind me, their moods still heavy with uncertainty. But I have a feeling that’s about to change.
Reign is already at the bar, perched like royalty with his dark dreads and silver rings catching the light. When he sees me, his whole face brightens, and I throw myself into his arms without hesitation.
He smells faintly like lavender and cigarettes.
“Oh, I’ve missed you, my little dove,” he whispers into my hair, then leans back with a grin. “You ready for me to pull a rabbit out of a top hat?”
“Please and thank you,” I say, barely containing my excitement.
The guys take seats across the bar, each of them looking worn thin but curious. Reign starts pouring drinks, beers for the boys, a seltzer for Elias, and rests his palms on the counter with the ease of someone who knows he owns the room.
“So,” Reign begins with a smirk, “I hear this one went full rockstar and got y’all booted off the tour.” He jerks a thumb toward me.
Elias drops his gaze, the guilt still clinging to him like smoke. My heart twists.
“But,” Reign continues, his tone shifting, “I called in a few favors and pulled some strings. If you’re interested, I’ve lined up a fifteen-date fall tour starting in two months. Yours. Headlining. And the first show will be right here at The Riot Room.”
The words hang there for a beat, stunned silence filling the room.
“You’re serious?” I ask.
“Dead serious. I pitched it as a stripped-down, unplugged set—more intimate venues, no massive light rigs or stage builds. You wouldn’t need Vernon or Hellwake’s setup.
Just you, your instruments, and a crowd that actually gives a shit.
It wasn’t hard to convince them after showing them the following you guys have gained this summer. ”
Jasper leans forward, brows lifted.
“What about management? Booking? Logistics?”
Reign smiles like the devil with a winning hand.
“Already handled some of that. As for management…” He shifts his gaze meaningfully toward me.
“I was thinking, Ramona.”
“Me?” I blink, caught completely off guard.
“You’ve already been doing the work. Organizing, marketing, social content, merch, tour logistics. Not to mention the unplugged style show was your idea. You’ve got the brain, the vision, and the passion. You just didn’t have the title.”
I glance toward the guys. Cody is grinning like a maniac. Jasper nods thoughtfully. Grady lifts his beer in a silent toast. But it’s Elias I look to last.
There’s something shifting in his eyes. The weight hasn’t vanished, but a spark is returning—just a flicker.
“And I know you’ve got new music,” Reign adds. “Tease a few unreleased tracks, give fans something exclusive. It’ll sell out.”
Elias finally speaks, voice low but firm. “Starting in two months?”
Reign nods. “Plenty of time to prep. You can use this place to rehearse, and my studio to record.”
I scan their faces again. The tension is dissolving, replaced with excitement and purpose.
What’s happening right now… there’s no language for it.
Atlas Obsidian launching their own tour, the one they deserve—and somehow I’m the one trusted to lead it. To protect it. To shepherd the dream they bled for.
Their belief in me is the most humbling, most heart-splitting gift I’ve ever been given.
“What do you say?” I ask, unable to hide my grin.
Cody slams his hands on Elias’s shoulders and practically shouts, “I say hell mother fucking yes—we’re back, baby!”
I laugh, the sound lifting something in my chest I hadn’t realized I’d been holding in.
“Then let’s get to work, boys,” I say, unable to stop the smirk tugging at my lips.
I dive into my work the moment the guys disappear into Reign’s recording studio, channeling all my nerves, hopes, and adrenaline into something tangible.
The first thing I do is finalize the promo post for the tour announcement. The second it goes live, I hold my breath and refresh the ticket link. Then again. And again.
And just like that—sales start rolling in.
The smile that spreads across my face is instinctive, uncontainable. I let out a soundless laugh and press my fingers to my lips, overwhelmed with pride.
We’re doing it. It’s real.
Even with the chaos of how we got here, I can’t help but feel relieved that Atlas Obsidian is finally free from Traeger’s suffocating grip. No more chasing scraps under someone else’s spotlight. This tour is theirs, and I have no doubt they’re going to light up every single stage.
I throw myself into the schedule next: two months of prep.
I draft rehearsal blocks, coordinate the studio timeline, design the teaser strategy for social media, and build out every single content idea I’ve been hoarding in the back of my mind.
The calendar is overflowing, but it doesn’t feel stressful. It feels electric.
My old job would’ve eaten this kind of workload for breakfast and somehow still felt soul-crushing. But this? This doesn’t drain me. This fuels me. It matters.
The only thing tugging at me is Elias.
We haven’t talked much in the last few days.
We’ve exchanged a few glances. A nod. A blank expression across the bus.
I’m giving him the space he asked for, and I know the band and this album are his everything right now.
And as much as I want answers for what we are, for what comes next—I refuse to be something that pulls him off course.
So I wait. Quietly. Hoping he’ll find his way to me when he’s ready.
When I finally check the time, I blink in disbelief. Six o’clock. I haven’t eaten. I haven’t seen the guys all day.
I stand, stretch out the kinks in my back, and slip quietly toward the studio door, hoping to sneak in unnoticed. The second I step inside, though, I feel it. The magic.
Elias is in the booth, headphones clutched tight, eyes closed. The moment his voice filters through the speakers, it stops me in my tracks.
His voice is thunder and smoke and bleeding light. A haunting melody woven from every shadow in his soul. The lyrics spill like confessions. Heavy. Intense. Devastatingly beautiful.
I recognize the lyrics that I read in his notebook:
Ridding the world of me, I say
As shadows stretch and colors gray
But in the dark, a flicker stays
A breath, a beat, a soul betrayed
Is this the end or just the edge?
A heart still clinging to the ledge
The hurt, the ache, the quiet scream
Drowns beneath this fevered dream
No one in the control room moves. No one breathes.
I press a hand to my chest, trying to anchor myself to the moment, because the way he sings—it’s not just music. It’s a reckoning. And when his eyes open, they go straight to mine, like some invisible tether has been pulling him toward me the entire time.
A smile tugs at his lips. The kind of smile that breaks through a storm.
He sets the headphones gently on the mic and steps out of the booth. Reign wipes his eyes and says, “That was... perfect. If you keep going like this, we’ll have this song done in no time.”
The room erupts in high-fives and laughter, but Elias doesn’t stop to join in.
He walks straight to me.
Without hesitation, he cups my face in his hands. My palms rise to meet his instinctively. He rests his forehead on mine and closes his eyes.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
And for a moment, the world goes still—just the two of us, suspended between unfinished words and something that feels an awful lot like home.