Jackson’s P.O.V.
It took exactly twelve hours, two slices of cold pizza, and a loop of one sad country song to realize that freedom... Kinda sucked without Eluna. I should’ve been ecstatic. For the first time in years, I wasn’t booked back-to-back with studio sessions or being stuffed into a hat and forced to smile at awards shows. I didn’t have makeup on my face or a mic shoved down my throat or a publicist breathing down my neck about my “brand integrity.”
No.
I had boxers, bad posture, and the entire place to myself.
I sprawled out on the couch in nothing but said boxers, surrounded by half-written lyrics and half-eaten snacks, and stared up at the ceiling like it might magically provide answers.
Spoiler: it did not.
The house was too quiet now. No Eluna humming. No sound of her
