He pulled out his phone and dialed. Three rings later, Logic picked up.

They sat back in the control room as the engineer leveled the vocals. The track was a perfect atmospheric balance: Wiz provided the horizon, and Logic provided the road. "High today?" Logic asked, nodding to the beat.

The studio was a haze of lavender-scented smoke and low-frequency vibrations. Wiz sat back in a leather swivel chair, eyes half-closed, drifting on a melodic loop that sounded like a sunrise over the Hollywood Hills. He wasn’t just looking for a beat; he was looking for a feeling—that specific, weightless drift where the world’s noise turns into a hum.

When he stepped out, Wiz stepped in. This was his territory. He smoothed out the edges of the track with his signature melodic nonchalance. He sang about the "High Today," but it wasn't just about the smoke—it was about the perspective. From where they were standing, the problems on the ground looked like ants.

"Yo, I’m in the lab," Wiz said, a slow grin spreading across his face. "I’ve got this joint that feels like 30,000 feet. You trying to fly today?" "Say less," Logic replied.