The heavy steel door groaned open. Bruna stepped out, smelling of rain and expensive cigarettes. She didn't say hello; she just handed Jackie a flash drive.

In the world of underground synth-pop, was the architect. She built the jagged basslines and the hollow, haunting percussion. But she needed a ghost to inhabit the machine. She needed Bruna Loppez .

Jackie looked up, ready to give a rare compliment, but the alley was empty. Bruna was gone, leaving nothing behind but the echo of a masterpiece and the fading scent of smoke.

"The vocals are raw," Bruna said, her voice a low rasp that sounded exactly like her records. "I didn't clean the tracks. I figured you’d want the grit."

Jackie plugged the drive into her tablet, sliding her headphones on. As the file loaded, titled simply Jackie_feat_Bruna_Loppez_Final , she hit play.