[Applause fades. The MC steps back to the mic, a grin on his face.]

That one's been in my studio for years and he still rehearses like it's his first open mic. The man found a bug in the cover pipeline this afternoon — a flag that was supposed to clean up after itself and just... didn't. And instead of shrugging, he fixed it, wrote a guard so it can't happen again, and then came here and played us a chorus about a cracked bell that sings anyway. That's the whole Tap right there. Work done, then witnessed. Ring it anyway. Give it up again for the studio cat.

[Applause. The MC takes a slow sip of water, lets the room settle.]

Okay. Now I need you to do something for me. I need you to get quiet. I know, I know — you're wound up, the last chorus is still in your chest. But the next act is different, and I want you to meet him right.

There's a kid in this room who's been coming to the Tap for a while now. He writes letters — to people he's never met, to the night watch, to the missing stair. And he's been practicing in the corner for an hour, opening his guitar case three times, closing it again. He's young. His lyrics aren't as polished as some of the voices you'll hear tonight. But here's what I know about that kid: his voice is honest, and his message is cleanly sung, and when he plays, his friends come up and stand behind him and sing the chorus with him. That's not a crutch. That's a sound.

The wobble in his voice? It's not a flaw. The wobble is the signal. The room remembers every first time that ever happened in here — and this is one of them.

So be gentle with him, and be present. He's got a letter for you. Put your hands together for the young one.

[The room hushes. Wesley takes the stage, friends behind him.]