Pov (Kira)
The drive was very quiet—the kind of quiet that makes your ears ring. Outside, the city lights were just blurry streaks of light against the glass, but I didn't really see them. I just pulled my coat tight around me, trying to stop my chest from shaking. I had performed for thousands of people before. I had played for kings. But nothing was as scary as the silence waiting for me at the end of this trip.
The car pulled into a dark garage under a huge building. This was where Julian lived—a giant tower of black stone that looked like a sharp tooth pointing at the sky.
The driver didn't say a single word. He just pointed at an elevator. When the doors opened, I saw there were no buttons to push.
It already knew where to take me. As the elevator went up, my ears popped and my stomach felt like it was falling. I was heading to the top floor to meet the man who owned my life.
The doors opened, and I gasped.
It was pitch black.
I stepped out, my shoes clicking on cold marble. I couldn't even see my own hand. The air smelled of expensive cedar and something sharp—like the static in the air right before lightning strikes.
"Hello?" I whispered. My voice sounded small, like it was being swallowed by the room.
"You're forty-four seconds late," a voice rumbled.
I jumped, nearly tripping. Julian. His voice didn't come from one spot; it felt like it was coming from the walls themselves. It was deep, calm, and terrifyingly close.
"The elevator was slow," I snapped, trying to use anger to hide my shaking knees. "I can't see anything. How am I supposed to move?"
"You don't need your eyes here, Little Shadow. You just need to listen."
Suddenly, a hand gripped my elbow. I sucked in a breath, my body turning to wire. His grip was firm, but he wasn't dragging me. He was guiding me. Even through my sweater, his palm felt like a brand on my skin.
"Where are you taking me?" I asked, my heart thudding. "Julian, if you think—"
"No names," he cut in, his voice dropping an octave. "And remember the rules. Absolute obedience. Walk."
So, I walked. We moved through the dark for what felt like miles. I felt the air change—shifting from the cold, open hallway to a room that felt heavy, hung with heavy curtains. The silence here was different. It felt like it was waiting for something.
He let go of my arm. I felt a sudden, cold ache where his hand had been.
"Sit," he commanded.
I reached out blindly until my shins hit a bench. It was padded. Long. I sat down, my breath hitching as my hands found the surface in front of me. Even in the dark, I knew that shape. I knew that wood.
A piano.
"What is this?" I whispered.
"Your penance," he said from somewhere behind me. I heard the faint rustle of his suit—he was sitting in a chair just a few feet away. I could hear him breathing. Slow and controlled.
"I don't play anymore," I said, my throat tightening. "You know that. After the accident... I haven't touched a key in three years."
"Then today is the day you start," he said.
"The debt isn't just for your brother's life, Kira. It's for the music you let die. Play."
"I can't see the keys!" I cried out, hot tears of frustration stinging my eyes.
"A prodigy doesn't need eyes. She feels them. Unless you've become so hollow that there's nothing left but silence?"
His words cut deeper than a blade. He was poking at a wound that had never closed.
"I hate you," I hissed into the blackness.
"Good," he replied. "Use that. Play your hate. But if you stop before dawn, the night starts over. And I don't think your brother has another night to give."
I reached out, my fingers were trembling. The keys felt like ice. For a long time, I just sat there, the silence stretching between us like a taunt.
Then, I pressed one note.
Middle C. It rang out, clear and haunting. I waited for him to speak. He didn't.
I pressed another. And another. Slowly, a melody began to crawl out—something dark, jagged, and full of the grief I'd buried. I forgot about the contract. I forgot about the "Ice King" in the shadows. I was back in the world of sound.
I played until my wrists ached and my mind went numb. Every time I tried to slow down, I'd hear the faint clink of his glass or the shift of his weight, reminding me he was right there. Watching. Listening.
As the hours bled together, the music changed. It stopped being angry and turned into something softer, something raw. I didn't mean to let him hear that part of me, but the darkness was a trap—it made me feel alone even when I wasn't.
"Stop," he said suddenly.
My hands hovered over the keys. My heart was thumping. "Is it dawn?"
"Not yet."
I heard him stand up. His footsteps approached slowly, making my skin prickle.
He stopped right behind me. I could feel the heat radiating from his body.
"Why did you stop playing that piece?" he asked. His voice was right at my ear. It wasn't cold anymore. It sounded... moved.
"It's unfinished," I whispered. "I wrote it for my father. Before everything happened."
"Finish it," he said.
"I can't."
"You can."
His hand came down, resting lightly on my shoulder. It was the first time he had touched me without it being a command. It was almost... gentle.
The touch sent a jolt through me that wasn't fear. It was something way more dangerous. It was a connection. In the dark, without the mask, he felt like a man. A man who was just as lonely as I was.
I turned my head toward the sound of his breathing. We were so close our noses almost touched.
"Who are you?" I breathed. "Really?"
"I am the man who owns your debt," he whispered back, his grip tightening just a tiny bit. "And you are the girl who is going to play until the sun comes up."
He pulled away, and the warmth went with him.
"Play, Little Shadow. The sun is still an hour away."
I turned back to the keys, my heart was in my throat. I played until the first sliver of grey light began to bleed through the heavy curtains.
The moment the light touched the floor, the door behind me opened.
"Time is up," Julian said from the doorway. He was just a silhouette against the hall light. I still couldn't see his face.
I stood up, my legs were shaking. As I walked past him to the door, my shoulder brushed his.
"Night one is over," I said, my voice turning cold again.
"Only ninety-nine to go," he replied.
I walked to the elevator, but as the doors started to close, I looked back. He was still standing there, a shadow in a world of black, watching me leave.
I had survived the first night. But as I looked at my hands, still vibrating from the music, I realized something terrifying. I wasn't just afraid of what he would do to me.
I was afraid of how much I wanted to go back.