Every late-night deadline, every passive-aggressive "per my last email," and every missed gym session came out in a surprisingly stable alto. She wasn't just singing "mari_done_karaoke"—she was performing an exorcism of her stress. She hit the high notes with a ferocity that made the pitcher of lime soda on the table rattle.

Mari gripped the tambourine like a lifeline as the opening notes of "Blue Bird" filled the small, neon-lit room. It was finally her turn. The Buildup

"Mari, you're up!" Sarah chirped, shoving a sticky microphone into her hand.

g., make it more comedic or a thriller) or to the karaoke group?

"Okay," she breathed, a genuine smile tugging at her lips. "Who's next?"

She set the microphone down, took a long sip of her drink, and finally muted her phone.