"I sound like crushed glass."
Elias stood in the center of the million dollar recording booth. He stared at the vintage condenser microphone with pure terror.
He wore a faded denim jacket that hung loosely on his emaciated frame. His hands shook violently.
Ryan Parker sat behind the massive digital mixing console. He did not offer empty words of comfort.
"Global Records made me sing through a severe vocal hemorrhage," Elias rasped.
His voice was incredibly harsh. It scraped against the silent air of the acoustic suite like rough sandpaper.
"They injected my throat with steroids for forty straight nights," Elias continued bitterly. "When the muscle finally tore completely, Marcus Thorne voided my contract. I have not sung a single note in five years."
Elias looked around the pristine
