10 hours ago
Ezvin moved through the room like a man who’d spent years in the company of music royalty—not demanding attention, but carrying a quiet authority that proved he belonged. He wasn’t part of Cadence Mathis’s court, though; he was something more like a trusted steward, the figure who worked in the shadows to keep the kingdom running. Overlooked, perhaps, but essential. That was how he liked it. Ezvin had no hunger for the spotlight himself. He found greater satisfaction in helping others—artists with voices worth hearing, like Maksim—bring their gifts into the light.
When introductions began, Ezvin handled them with practiced ease. There was a rhythm to it: a firm handshake, steady eye contact, a respectful nod. Casey Bennett, bassist and band leader, exuded natural authority, and Ezvin made a mental note of the way her gaze lingered just a beat longer than the others—as if she were already evaluating him. Then there was Matt on guitar, a quiet presence but with a sharp, observant look Ezvin recognized in most guitarists. Barry, perched by the keys and synths, offered a small smile, his hands fidgeting unconsciously like someone always itching to play. And Cara, seated behind her drumsticks, gave a short but deliberate nod that told Ezvin she didn’t waste words.
Finally, he greeted Aline Shaw, the security detail, whose sharp posture and no-nonsense air reminded him she probably noticed everything. Ezvin respected that kind of quiet vigilance.
Ezvin nodded slightly, matching Cadence’s poise with his own steady professionalism.
“Only what Marlise has explained so far,” he answered, his voice carrying an easy clarity that made him sound both measured and engaged.
“But I’ve always found it works best to hear ideas straight from the artist.”
He met her gaze as he continued, his tone sure, his words deliberate.
“My job is simple: to help you see the music for what you want it to be. And then push it—gently—toward what it could be.”
A subtle smile softened his words, a flicker of warmth that hinted at his belief in the process.
“I’m just here to help you keep being awesome.”
There was no flattery in his tone—just conviction, a quiet assurance that made it feel like a partnership, not a power play.
Adjusting the strap of his messenger bag, Ezvin shifted the focus naturally forward.
“If you’d be so kind, let’s hear your ideas. Even a sampling. I brought my guitar, but if you’ve got keys or other instruments handy, we can dive in wherever you feel comfortable.”
The invitation was delivered lightly, but there was intention behind it: Show me where you’re at, and I’ll meet you there. Ezvin wasn’t here to lead the way—this was Cadence’s vision. His job was to hold up the mirror, to expand the possibilities, to make the music sing.
As the room settled into the quiet space after his words, Ezvin let the moment sit, his confidence a steady current beneath the surface. This was where it started: the music, the work, the art. The rest would come.
When introductions began, Ezvin handled them with practiced ease. There was a rhythm to it: a firm handshake, steady eye contact, a respectful nod. Casey Bennett, bassist and band leader, exuded natural authority, and Ezvin made a mental note of the way her gaze lingered just a beat longer than the others—as if she were already evaluating him. Then there was Matt on guitar, a quiet presence but with a sharp, observant look Ezvin recognized in most guitarists. Barry, perched by the keys and synths, offered a small smile, his hands fidgeting unconsciously like someone always itching to play. And Cara, seated behind her drumsticks, gave a short but deliberate nod that told Ezvin she didn’t waste words.
Finally, he greeted Aline Shaw, the security detail, whose sharp posture and no-nonsense air reminded him she probably noticed everything. Ezvin respected that kind of quiet vigilance.
Ezvin nodded slightly, matching Cadence’s poise with his own steady professionalism.
“Only what Marlise has explained so far,” he answered, his voice carrying an easy clarity that made him sound both measured and engaged.
“But I’ve always found it works best to hear ideas straight from the artist.”
He met her gaze as he continued, his tone sure, his words deliberate.
“My job is simple: to help you see the music for what you want it to be. And then push it—gently—toward what it could be.”
A subtle smile softened his words, a flicker of warmth that hinted at his belief in the process.
“I’m just here to help you keep being awesome.”
There was no flattery in his tone—just conviction, a quiet assurance that made it feel like a partnership, not a power play.
Adjusting the strap of his messenger bag, Ezvin shifted the focus naturally forward.
“If you’d be so kind, let’s hear your ideas. Even a sampling. I brought my guitar, but if you’ve got keys or other instruments handy, we can dive in wherever you feel comfortable.”
The invitation was delivered lightly, but there was intention behind it: Show me where you’re at, and I’ll meet you there. Ezvin wasn’t here to lead the way—this was Cadence’s vision. His job was to hold up the mirror, to expand the possibilities, to make the music sing.
As the room settled into the quiet space after his words, Ezvin let the moment sit, his confidence a steady current beneath the surface. This was where it started: the music, the work, the art. The rest would come.