By midnight, the Moda Center had emptied, leaving only the clatter of road crews tearing down steel lighting trusses and rolling heavy flight cases toward the loading ramps. The cavernous arena smelled of spent pyrotechnics, beer, and cold concrete. At the Front-of-House mixing riser, June sat with her laptop connected directly to the internal flash memory of the digital audio console. Beside her, Alex sat on an overturned cable trunk,…
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