focusing on a specific part of the song.

But Leo held back. He filtered the sound, cutting the lows until only a tinny, frantic melody remained. The tension in the room was a physical weight. People stopped dancing; they looked at the booth, waiting, begging for the release.

Leo watched Elena. She was moving now, her arms tracing slow, liquid arcs in the air, her eyes closed. She wasn't just dancing; she was waiting for the drop. With a flick of his wrist, Leo slammed the faders up.