Elias stepped outside, and the shop was gone.

One moment, the neon sign flickered behind him. The next, nothing. No faded storefront. No weathered brick. Just another empty, cracked sidewalk blending into the city’s endless sprawl.

A streetlight buzzed overhead. The wind pushed at his jacket. The world around him felt the same. But something in his chest told him it wasn’t.

It was subtle. Barely there.

A weight he hadn’t noticed before was suddenly missing.

Like a headache fading before you even realize you had one.

He stood there for a long moment, fingers twitching against the guitar case slung over his shoulder.

Hadn’t he just—?

A sharp pulse of pain shot through his skull.

His breath hitched, and his mind blurred.

The memory slid out of reach, like ink bleeding through paper.

His deal.

The trade.

The book.

It was all there, somewhere, but the details were softened, hazy around the edges.

Something about his music.

Something about getting it back.

His brow furrowed slightly. That wasn’t right.

He never blacked out. That wasn’t his thing. He’d had his reckless moments, sure, but this? This felt… off.

Elias rubbed his temple, like he could smooth out the edges of the missing memory.

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Nothing.

Just that lingering sense of something unaccounted for.

His fingers tightened around the strap of his guitar case.

No time for this. He had work to do.

With a final glance at the very empty spot where the shop had been, Elias turned, denial settling into his bones like armor.

The city hadn’t changed. The world hadn’t changed.

And whatever that had been?

It didn’t matter.

By the time he reached his usual street corner, the sun had fully risen, painting the city in that familiar washed-out glow.

The streets were already alive—cars honking, people rushing past, coffee cups in hand. The same rhythm. The same pace.

Like nothing had happened.

Like nothing had changed.

Elias slung his guitar into position and exhaled slowly.

Time to get back to normal.

His fingers found the strings, moving on instinct. The first chord rang out, smooth and clean, and—

Something hit him.

A warmth, spreading through his chest like a struck match.

The music settled inside him.

Alive. Real.

It had been so long since he felt it like this—like the notes weren’t just sound but something breathing beneath his fingertips.

He strummed again.

The feeling deepened.

For the first time in years, the music loved him back.

The world blurred at the edges, everything narrowing down to this moment, this song.

And then—

“Wait. Is that—?”

A voice, just loud enough to pull him back.

Elias blinked, fingers stilling over the strings.

A woman stood near the edge of the small gathering, tilting her head as she squinted at him. “That guy looks familiar.”

His grip on the guitar tightened slightly.

Another voice, from the other side of the street.

“Is that Elias Cross?”

His fingers hesitated.

A mistake.

He never made mistakes.

He forced himself to keep playing, but suddenly, the song felt heavier. Like he was dragging something behind him, something he hadn’t noticed until now.

People didn’t recognize him. Not anymore.

They used to.

They used to stop and listen, used to know his name.

But that had been years ago.

So why—

Why were they looking at him like that?

He played another note, pushing past the creeping doubt, but the whispers only grew.

“I haven’t seen him play in a long time.”

“I thought he—”

The words cut off.

Like the thought had been interrupted.

Like it had been erased mid-sentence.

Elias’ brows knitted together.

The headache from earlier spiked, sharp and nauseating.

A memory.

A deal.

A shop that didn’t exist.

His pulse beat a little too fast.

His fingers twitched, an unconscious motion. He shifted his weight, suddenly aware of the cold air biting at his hands.

No.

No, this was ridiculous.

He was fine.

Everything was fine.

Elias forced out a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Man, you must have me confused with someone else.”

The group exchanged glances.

But then, slowly, they nodded, as if accepting the excuse even if they didn’t quite believe it.

Good.

That was good.

Because Elias was absolutely not going to start questioning reality right now.

That was the kind of thing that led to bad life choices.

Like panic. And existential dread. And—worse—self-reflection.

No, thank you.

He cleared his throat, flashing another perfectly normal, nothing-to-see-here smile. “Anyway, requests? Or are we just gonna keep staring at me like I grew a second head?”

A few people chuckled. The tension broke.

And just like that—everything slid back into place.

Elias let out a quiet breath of relief as he started playing again.

Normal.

Everything was normal.

He wasn’t going to think about weird dreams. Or deals. Or the feeling in his chest that something had shifted.

Because none of that mattered.

Only the music did.

And as long as he kept playing, kept moving forward, he wouldn’t have to think about anything else.

But just out of sight—hidden in the shadows of a nearby alley—someone was still watching.

The Lie Seller smiled.

Because Elias might have been done with the truth.

But the truth wasn’t done with him.

End of Chapter 2.