There was a hush before the bridge, the kind that makes conversations stop mid-breath. Ashley’s hands were in her pockets, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the stage as if she was trying to pull one particular lyric out of the smoke. When Pain Bunny hit the line that names the thing you’ve been pretending not to admit, something in her face broke open. Not a theatrical collapse — a small, real fracture you could see only if you were paying attention. That moment made the rest of the room honest.