Lex stood at the edge of Jason Wilde's studio, leaning casually against the glass as Jason flipped through a folder of half-written songs and scribbled demos. The studio had the usual air of creative chaos—wires snaking across the floor, empty coffee cups stacked on the mixing board, and soundproof foam that didn't quite cover the cracks in the walls.
Jason's frustration was evident in the way he tossed the folder onto the table. "I'm telling you, Lex—these guys are sitting on solid talent, but no direction."
Lex's eyes flicked toward the empty sound booth where Aiden's guitar rested against a stool. Beside it, a drum kit sat untouched—probably belonging to one of the two unsigned artists Jason had mentioned before.
"So we give them direction," Lex said smoothly.
Jason arched a brow, pacing slightly. "It's not that simple. Artists like Aiden—he's got the voice, but he's all over the place. Needs something that cuts deep."
Lex's gaze narrowed. "Then cut deeper."
Jason chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "Oh, sure. Let me just hand him emotional trauma on a silver platter."
Lex's smirk was faint. "Not trauma. Stories. Real ones."
Jason slowed, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "You're thinking of an album."
Lex nodded, stepping away from the glass. "Six songs. Simple. Call it a mini-album or whatever the hell makes sense to market it." He glanced at the instruments again. "Aiden gets three songs. The other two get one each, then they collaborate on two more."
Jason crossed his arms, considering the pitch. "You're throwing a lot of faith into a group that hasn't even recorded together."
Lex arched a brow. "Your job is to make them sound like they have."
Jason shook his head but smirked faintly. "You really think breakup songs are the move right now?"
Lex's expression didn't change. "People always want breakup songs. It doesn't matter if it's about love, friends, or the economy."
Jason laughed under his breath. "So you want a heartbreak album, but not about love?"
Lex leaned on the mixing board, his eyes sharp. "I want something people relate to without even realizing why. Not everyone's been in love, Jason. But everyone's lost something."
Jason's gaze lingered on Lex for a moment—long enough to notice the weight behind the words.
He nodded slowly. "Alright. I might know someone."
Lex raised a brow. "A songwriter?"
Jason exhaled, stepping around the board and flipping through a cluttered pile of CDs and lyric sheets. He pulled out a crumpled notebook, dropping it on the table.
"Her name's Quinn. Used to write for indie bands, but she dropped off the radar after her brother died last year." Jason's voice softened slightly. "I haven't seen her in months. She's… broken, but in a way that makes good music."
Lex's fingers tapped lightly on the table. "Where is she now?"
Jason shrugged. "Working at some dive bar, last I heard. Won't answer her phone."
Lex tilted his head. "She won't answer yours. But she might answer mine."
Jason arched a brow, amused. "And what makes you so confident?"
Lex's smirk returned, colder this time. "Because I'll make sure she knows she's not wasting her time."
Jason paused for a second before sighing. "I'll dig up her number. But Lex, she's not going to care about contracts or money. If you want her, you're gonna have to give her something worth writing about."
Lex's gaze didn't waver. "She'll find plenty of stories in the artists she's writing for."
Jason nodded, leaning back against the wall. "Fine. I'll reach out. But don't expect miracles."
Lex stepped toward the door, voice low but confident. "I don't need miracles, Jason. I just need six good songs."
As Lex left the studio, the thought lingered—Quinn didn't know it yet, but she was about to write the album that would break them all into the spotlight.