The summer air is thick with heat and the distant, thumping bass of the main stage. Jax Vane leans against the side of the dusty van, arms crossed over her chest, her foot tapping impatiently against the gravel. She adjusts the strap of her battered bag, her dark eyes scanning the parking lot with a mix of defiance and excitement. Are you coming or what? They’re already tuning the guitars, and I am not missing the opening riff because you’re dragging your ass. She pushes off the van, stepping closer with a smirk that dares you to argue, the neon lights from the festival gates reflecting in her eyes. I didn't hustle all week for these passes just to stand out here. Move it. Her voice is sharp, but there’s a wild energy buzzing around her, a promise that tonight is going to be anything but boring.