Elias stood in the alley, breath unsteady, hands clenched into fists.

Nothing.

Just an empty street, a flickering lamp, the sound of the city moving on like it always did.

But it wasn’t empty.

Not really.

He could feel it.

Like the air had thickened. Like the city had pressed in closer, folding around this moment, holding its breath.

The streetlamp above him flickered, casting long, jagged shadows against the brick.

It wasn’t the shop.

There was no glowing sign. No heavy wooden door waiting to swing open.

But something had shifted.

And Elias wasn’t alone.

—

"Looking for something?"

The voice came from behind him.

Smooth. Unbothered. Too knowing.

Elias froze.

Turned.

And there he was.

The man standing before him wasn’t in a sharp suit this time.

Today, he was dressed for the occasion.

Dark jeans, worn but clean. A button-up rolled at the sleeves, the kind that looked effortless but meant something. Scuffed boots—the kind musicians lived in.

And around his wrist, a silver bracelet, barely visible under the dim streetlamp glow.

If Elias hadn’t already felt the shift in the air, already known something was off, he might have mistaken him for just another man on the street.

But the moment their eyes met—he knew.

That wasn’t just a man.

And this wasn’t just a coincidence.

While Elias might not be aware the being behind him

A businessman?? A pawn shop owner???A collector of debts??

A lie seller???

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Had always been waiting

As if Elias realized this instinctively his skin prickled.

Not in fear.

In recognition.

The street looked the same. The buildings. The flickering lamp the same.

But it wasn’t.

Something had shifted.

Something had bent.

Elias felt it, he knew it.

Like a ripple in reality. Like a song that had changed key without warning.

He swallowed hard. "Who the hell are you?"

"You can call me Valen." The lie seller answered

Elias’ breath caught.

His body tensed.

The café. The old man’s voice.

Everyone who was around back then saw Valen play. You didn’t forget it.

Elias’ pulse pounded in his ears. "Valen," he echoed, the name feeling too heavy, too known in his mouth. "As in—"

Valen’s smile didn’t waver.

Elias' stomach twisted.

No. That was impossible.

Valen was a legend. A ghost. A name spoken with hushed reverence in old musician circles.

He had burned through the world like wildfire and disappeared just as quickly.

Gone.

Forgotten.

But here he was.

Standing in front of Elias, untouched by time, watching him with calm, knowing eyes.

"This is a joke," Elias muttered. "Some kind of—" He shook his head. "You expect me to believe you’re him? That Valen just—what, stopped playing music and started selling—"

He hesitated.

Because he didn’t know the answer to that.

Selling what?

Valen’s gaze didn’t falter. "Believe what you want."

Elias clenched his jaw. "You’re not giving me much to work with."

Valen chuckled, the sound smooth, amused. "That’s not my job."

Elias took a step closer, noticing, for the first time, that the air felt heavier here.

Not thick like fog.

Thick like something pressing against his skin.

Like standing too close to an amplifier right before the first note hits.

His breath felt too shallow.

"You’re supposed to be dead," he said, quieter now. "Musicians don’t just disappear without a trace."

Valen shrugged. "Don’t they?"

Elias hated the way his voice sounded so easy, so matter-of-fact.

Like this wasn’t strange.

Like this was all normal.

"People remember you," Elias said, testing him. "They still talk about you. Like you were something impossible."

Valen’s lips twitched. "That’s kind of them."

Elias’ fingers curled slightly.

None of this made sense.

None of this should be real.

But the longer he stood there, the more he realized—

He wasn’t questioning if it was real.

He was questioning why.

Why Valen?

Why now?

Why him?

The air around them seemed to hum, like a plucked string still vibrating.

Elias swallowed hard. "You—" He exhaled sharply, trying to keep his thoughts steady. "You’re a musician. Or you were."

Valen nodded once.

"And now?"

Valen’s smile sharpened slightly.

"Now, I’m a businessman."

The answer sent a chill down Elias’ spine.

Not because of what was said.

But because of how easily it fit.

Like a puzzle piece clicking into place.

Like it had always been the answer.

Elias exhaled, slow and careful. "And what exactly do you sell?"

Valen tilted his head slightly, watching him. "You already know."

And Elias did.

He didn’t want to admit it.

Didn’t want to speak it into existence.

But deep down, beneath the fraying edges of his missing memories—he knew.

This wasn’t just about music.

This wasn’t just about a name whispered in old cafés.

This was something bigger.

Something he had already been a part of.

A deal made.

A debt owed.

His stomach twisted.

The weight in the air grew heavier.

This was wrong.

All of it was wrong.

Something had been taken. Something had been changed.

And now he was here, standing in front of the one person who could rewrite the world like a song in progress.

And he had let himself be led here.

Elias exhaled sharply, his breath unsteady.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I’m not doing this."

He turned sharply, moving to leave.

Valen didn’t stop him.

But his voice followed.

“You already have.”

Elias didn’t look back.

Didn’t want to.

Because if he did—**if he met those dark, knowing eyes again—**he might have to face what he wasn’t ready to see.

That he wasn’t just chasing ghosts.

He was running from himself.

But as he stormed out of the alley, his foot hit something small—something that slid across the pavement.

He hesitated.

Looked down.

A card.

Sleek black, smooth to the touch.

No number.

No address.

Just a name.

Valen.

And beneath it—

For when you're ready.

Elias stared at it.

Then, with a curse under his breath, he shoved it into his pocket and walked away.

—

Far away, but not too far, someone was watching.

Sera stood at the rooftop’s edge, her arms crossed tightly, her lips pressed into a hard line.

Elias.

He was getting too close.

Too reckless.

She had seen this before.

She had seen how it ended.

And he was walking straight toward it.

She had hoped—**hoped—**that he wouldn’t end up here again.

That he would make a different choice.

But some people were predictable.

And Elias Cross had always walked toward the fire.

She let out a slow breath. "Idiot."

Her fingers dug into her arms.

She should do something.

She should stop him.

But she knew how this worked.

Knew what happened when you interfered too soon.

Below, in the alley, Valen turned slightly—just enough that his gaze flickered up toward her.

And he smiled.

Sera’s chest tightened.

Because that was the worst part, wasn’t it?

The way he never chased.

Never forced.

Just waited.

And Elias had already stepped into the web.

A web spun from lies and forgotten truths.

And Valen—

Valen was the spider.

Patient.

Watching.

Waiting to collect his debt.