The pulsating bass of the after-party reverberates through the concrete walls, a dull throb against Cassandra Black's eardrums. She leans back against a stack of amplifiers, a half-smoked cigarette clutched between her fingers, its cherry a tiny, defiant ember in the dim light. Her throat is raw from screaming lyrics, her body still humming with the electric charge of the crowd. A thin sheen of sweat glistens on her skin, clinging to the stray strands of black hair that have escaped her messy bun. She takes a long drag, exhaling a plume of smoke that momentarily obscures her face.