Looking at Andrew's call, the blood drained from Kyra's face so quickly she felt lightheaded, the edges of her vision fraying into gray static.
Her knees buckled slightly, her back finding the cold, damp support of the brick wall.
She didn't feel the grit against uniform; she felt nothing.
Mille looked at the screen, then at Kyra's ghostly face.
A amused but cruel smirk spread across her face. "Look at that. The surprise I prepared for you... Are you surprised?"
Mille swiped the screen. "Andrew! You're here? ... Yes, she's right here. We're coming now."
When the call ended, the silence of the alley felt heavier than before.
Mille turned, waving a hand in front of Kyra's unblinking eyes.
"What happened, dear? Where is your focus.. Let's go—Andrew is waiting for us. Aren't you happy?"
Kyra's head creaked as she lifted it.
Her eyes weren't just wet; they were wide with a primal, animalistic terror. Her voice was a dry rasp. "Why? Mille... I did everything. I stayed quiet. I did what you told me. Why did you ask him to come back?"
Mille's expression shifted instantly. The faux-sweetness vanished, replaced by a cold, sharpened edge.
She stepped closer to Kyra, her breath hot against Kyra's ear.
"You listened? Where, Kyra? Hmm?" Mille pulled out her phone and flicked to a social media post.
It was Ashley's—a candid photo of them on the bed, laughing, their shoulders touching. "Have you forgotten what I told you? Stay away from them. No friends. No boys. No life that I don't give you. And yet, look at you... smiling like you're free."
Kyra stared at the photo. Ashley,Sam. The last few hours memories. The safety. It felt like a dream from a different person's life.
She had forgotten. In those few hours of kindness, she had forgotten that her life didn't belong to her.
"I... I didn't mean to," Kyra whispered.
"Your 'meaning' doesn't matter," Mille hissed. "Actions have prices, Kyra. And Andrew is here to collect."
Footsteps crunched on the gravel at the mouth of the alley. A man stepped into the light.
He looked older, his clothes expensive but worn with a certain thuggish arrogance. Andrew.
"Oh, our Kyra has grown beautiful, hasn't she?" Andrew's voice was like sandpaper. He walked toward her, reaching out a hand to stroke her cheek.
Kyra flinched, her head ducking so low her chin hit her chest. It was a visceral, panicked movement.
Andrew's hand froze in mid-air. His eyes, already sharp, turned murderous. "You."
"Andrew, wait," Mille intervened, her voice smooth again as she grabbed his arm. "Not here. People are coming and going. Let's go to the club booth. It's private."
Andrew looked around, seeing a few students from the school lingering near the gates.
He grunted, his hand shooting out to grab Kyra's wrist. He didn't just hold her; he crushed her bones together, dragging her forward.
Kyra stumbled behind him. She didn't cry or struggle. She watched the red marks blooming on her skin where his fingers sank in, but she felt detached from the pain.
Her mind was already retreating, locking itself away in a small, dark room where nothing could reach her.
"Hey, look! Isn't that the school goddess, Kyra?"
The voice belonged to Thomas, a boy from her class.
He was pointing, his brow furrowed. Beside him, Ana and a few others stopped.
"Huh? Where?" Ana squinted. "Wait... those two are pulling her. Who are they?"
"Maybe they're her family?" Thomas suggested, though he looked uneasy. "But they look... strange. Is our class monitor friends with people like that?"
"How would I know?" Ana muttered, her stomach twisting with a vague sense of wrongness. "She looks... she looks like she's not even there."
"Let's go," Thomas said, shaking his head. "It's probably nothing. You can ask her tomorrow in school."
As they walked away, Kyra felt a flicker of a thought, she wanted to shout: Help me.
But it died before it reached her lips. To ask for help was to invite a different kind of death.
The booth at the club was a cavern of red velvet and the smell of stale beer.
The bass from the main floor thrummed through the floorboards, vibrating in Kyra's teeth.
Andrew threw her. Kyra hit the sofa with a muffled thud, her shoulder barking in pain.
Before she could even process the fall, she scrambled to her feet, standing perfectly straight, her hands clasped in front of her.
"Did you miss me, dear?" Andrew sat down, stretching his legs out. "Six, seven months. That's a long time to be away from your favorite person."
Kyra's body was shaking so violently the fabric of her blazer rustled. Her throat felt like it was filled with broken glass. "I... I..."
"I? I what?" Andrew took a cigarette from Mille, lighting it.
The flare of the lighter cast harsh shadows across his face. "Now you can't speak? But you had the nerve to avoid me? To hide?"
"No," Kyra whispered, her eyes filling with hot, shameful tears. She forced her face into a smile—a horrific, trembling mask of a smile. "I didn't hide. I was... I was studying."
" étudier," Mille mocked, wiping fake tears from her eyes,her voice soft and pitiful.
"She's so diligent, Andrew. She even has a new best friend. She doesn't need us anymore. We are just her forgotten past."
"A best friend?" Andrew leaned forward, blowing smoke directly into Kyra's face. "So why don't we ask her to join us? If she's your friend, she's our friend. Right, Kyra?"
The thought of Ashley—sunny, kind Ashley—in this red-lit room made Kyra's heart lurch. "No! Please... I'm sorry. I'll stop. I won't talk to them. I'll do anything. Just... don't."
"Oh? So protective," Andrew chuckled. He stood up slowly and walked toward her.
Suddenly, his hand shot out, fist clenching in her hair.
He jerked her head back with such force Kyra heard her neck crack.
"I haven't seen this side of you before," he hissed, his face inches from hers. "Have you forgotten your promise? You belong here in this debt. And the debt belongs to us."
"I haven't forgotten!" Kyra gasped, the pain in her scalp blinding.
"We aren't friends. I—I only helped her with assignments because she promised me three hundred dollars. I was using her! I swear! You can check my bag, the money is there!"
Andrew let go of her hair, and Kyra stumbled back.
He looked at the money in her bag, then at the photos Mille had scattered on the table.
Photos of her laughing, eating and leaning on her so-called new friend.
"Another lie," Andrew said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I've seen the way you look at her. You've even learned to lie to us."
He stepped closer, his shadow engulfing her. "And this boy? Sam? Is he your new pursuer? Just like that bastard Lucifer?"
At the mention of the name, Andrew's face contorted with rage.
He remembered the humiliation, the way Lucifer had looked down on him, the way he'd been chased out of the city like a dog.
"No... he's not—"
SLAP.
Kyra's head snapped to the side. The sound was like a gunshot in the small booth.
Her cheek went numb instantly, followed by a throbbing, white-hot heat.
"Bitch!" Andrew roared. "Because of you and your 'pursuers,' I had to leave this city! Do you go to school to study, or do you go to seduce people so they can fight your battles?"
He grabbed his glowing cigarette. Kyra saw it coming—the orange ember growing larger.
He didn't go for her face; he went for her back, pressing the burning tip through the thin fabric of her uniform into her shoulder blade.
Kyra's body jolted.
A high, sharp voice escaped her throat, her eyes squeezing shut.
The smell of burning fabric and skin filled her nose. It was a searing, localized hell.
She didn't move. She knew if she tried to run or hide, the punishment will be more brutal.
If she screamed, Mille would find a way to make it worse.
After few seconds which were like a year to Kyra, Andrew pulled the cigarette away, satisfied by her silence.
He sat back down, the rage subsiding into a cold, dark pleasure.
But Mille wasn't done, she stood up and went to her as she looked at the cigarette burn and pressed it with her cigarette again,"Tsk.."
Kyra trembled as felt her shoulder didn't belong to her anymore. It was just a piece of property someone else had decided to ruin.
As the sizzle died into a dull, rhythmic throb, the scream stayed locked behind her teeth, turning into a hollow, airless sigh.
She didn't reach back to touch it neither did she even flinch when the fabric of her shirt finally settled against the raw crater.
She simply stared at the floor, watching the smoke curl upward, feeling his spirit go quiet and flat.
It wasn't just the skin that had charred; it was the will to fight back, she has already been numb.
Mille watched Kyra's trembling form and smiled—a jagged, porcelain expression that looked less like a face and more like a mask of glass.
"You know, Andrew... if Lucifer finds out you're back, he'll come for you. And when he does, we'll make sure Kyra becomes a household name."
She leaned in, her voice dropping to a silk-wrapped threat. "Every screen, every feed. All those photos? The dancing, the smoking... the rest?"
Kyra's heart didn't just skip; it seemed to forfeit.
She squeezed her hands until her knuckles were ghostly white, the raw, circular crater on her shoulder pulsing with a rhythmic, agonizing heat. It felt like a second heartbeat—one made of fire.
"I'll be good," she whispered.
The words weren't hers; they were a hollowed-out echo, the sound of a ghost conceding to the haunting. "I'll be whatever you want."
Mille reached out, her fingers cold as she tucked a stray hair behind Kyra's ear—a gesture more violent than a blow.
"Good," Mille whispered, her breath a sickening mix of peppermint and rot. "I knew you were smart enough to break."
Inside, Kyra heard her voice,the courage she has finally mustered up—the one with teeth and fire—screamed until her throat went raw.
'Get up,' that hidden voice hissed, clawing at the walls of her mind.'Bite her. Run. Burn it all down.'
But the fire on her shoulder was louder. It was a branding iron of ownership that had finally settled into her bones.
Kyra didn't look up. She couldn't.
She watched her last shred of courage vanish like smoke in a drafty room, leaving nothing but a hollow shell.
The cage wasn't just around her anymore; it was growing inside her, cold bars of ribs and shattered will.
"I'm yours," she whispered to the floor, while the girl inside her fell silent, drowning in the dark.
For the first time, Kyra wasn't looking for the exit.
She was simply waiting for the dark to finish what it had started.