Chapter 6 #2
“I’ve studied extensively. Your condition requires a comprehensive understanding.” Vale stepped back, giving Kieran space to breathe. “And now you understand that fighting me is counterproductive.”
Kieran turned around slowly, keeping the counter at his back for support. His legs felt weak, the adrenaline crash mixing with whatever his body had just experienced.
“That’s assault.”
“That’s medical intervention.” Vale picked up one of the coffee mugs and held it out. “Now drink.”
Kieran stared at the offered coffee, at Vale’s calm expression, at the complete lack of remorse in those intelligent eyes. This was calculated. Practiced. Vale knew exactly what he was doing and how Kieran would respond.
This is who I’m dealing with. Someone who studies nervous systems like other people study sheet music.
“I hate you,” Kieran said quietly.
“That’s fine. Hate is better than apathy.” Vale set the mug on the counter when Kieran didn’t take it. “Now. Let’s talk about your schedule.”
“My schedule?”
“Your recovery requires structure. Regular meals, consistent sleep patterns, stress management.” Vale pulled out his phone and opened what looked like a calendar app.
Kieran stared at him, trying to process the casual way Vale was discussing kidnapping like it was a professional development opportunity. “You can’t b-be serious.”
“I’m always serious about talent development.” Vale’s smile was warm. “You have extraordinary potential, Kieran. But you’ve been wasting it on street corners, playing for people who don’t even listen. I’m going to teach you what real artistry requires.”
“I don’t w-want your teaching.”
“Yes, you do. You just don’t know it yet.” Vale moved to the refrigerator and began pulling out ingredients. “You’re going to eat breakfast now. Everything your body needs to stabilize blood sugar and support neurological recovery.”
“Wh-what if I refuse?”
Vale paused, turned to look at him with that patient expression that made Kieran want to scream. “Then I’ll assume your judgment is too impaired for you to make medical decisions, and I’ll have to take more direct measures.”
“Direct measures?”
“Sedation. I have diazepam and several other options that will keep you comfortable and calm while your system recovers. I’d rather not. The cognitive effects can last for days, and that’s not conducive to learning. But if you can’t cooperate with your own care, I’ll have no choice.”
The threat was delivered like a medical consultation, calm and reasonable and absolutely terrifying.
“So my options are comply or be d-drugged unconscious?”
“Your options are to participate in your recovery or be protected from your own poor judgment.” Vale began measuring oats out onto a kitchen scale. “I prefer the first option. You’re much more interesting when you’re conscious.”
Kieran slid down to sit on the kitchen floor, his back against the cabinets as he tried to make sense of his situation.
Every door was locked. The phone was dead.
His captor had medical knowledge that let him manipulate Kieran’s body like a puppet.
And apparently, the plan was to keep him here for “intensive work” on his music career.
This is insane. This is completely insane.
“Why?” The word came out broken, exhausted. “Why m-me? Why this?”
Vale looked down at him from the stove where he was cooking oats. “Because you’re extraordinary, and no one else sees it. Because you were killing yourself slowly on those streets, and someone needed to intervene. Because the world deserves to hear what you’re capable of when you stop hiding.”
“I w-wasn’t hiding.”
“Yes, you were. You were playing your saddest song for strangers who gave you pity change and then forgot you existed. That’s not artistry. That’s self-flagellation disguised as a career aspiration.”
The accuracy of the observation hurt more than Kieran wanted to admit. He had been hiding. Playing music for people who weren’t really listening, who saw him as background ambiance instead of someone worth actually hearing.
“That still d-doesn’t give you the right to kidnap me.”
“Rights are philosophical constructs. Results are what matter.” Vale plated the oats with the precision of someone who’d done this thousands of times—berries arranged artistically, honey drizzled over them in perfect spirals. “And the results will speak for themselves.”
He set the plate on the counter and gestured for Kieran to stand. “Eat. Then we’ll start your first lesson.”
“Wh-what if I say no?”
Vale’s smile was patient, almost fond. “Then we’ll try again in a few hours after you’ve had time to reconsider. But your stubbornness won’t change the situation, sweetheart. You’re here. I’m going to teach you. The only variable is how difficult you make the process.”
Kieran stared at the offered food, at Vale’s calm expression, at the locked doors and dead phone lines and complete absence of escape options. His throat still ached where Vale’s fingers had pressed, a reminder of how easily his body could be controlled.
I can’t fight my way out. I can’t sneak out. I can’t call for help.
But maybe I can play along. Make him think I’m cooperating and wait for a real opportunity.
“Fine.” Kieran pulled himself up to sit at the counter, keeping his expression neutral even though rage burned in his chest. “I’ll eat yo-your breakfast.”
Vale’s eyes narrowed slightly, searching Kieran’s face for the trap. “You’re being very reasonable all of a sudden.”
“You’re right. I’m st-still foggy from the seizure. F-f-fighting you isn’t productive.” The lie tasted like ash, but Kieran kept his voice steady. “If I’m st-stuck here until I’m ‘recovered,’ I m-might as well cooperate.”
“Interesting.” Vale leaned against the opposite counter, studying him like a particularly fascinating specimen. “And here I thought it would take days to reach this point.”
Because you’re an arrogant asshole who thinks you’ve already won.
“I’m practical,” Kieran said, echoing Vale’s earlier words back at him. “N-no point in making my-myself sicker by being stubborn.”
Vale smiled. “I knew you were intelligent. This is going to be much more enjoyable if you’re a willing participant.”
Kieran picked up the fork and began eating the oats mechanically. They were perfectly cooked, flavored with cinnamon and vanilla, topped with berries that probably cost more than his weekly grocery budget.
Vale is methodical. He plans. He researches. He prepares.
Which means he’s thought of everything.
Which means I need to be smarter than everything he planned for.
“So,” Kieran said, keeping his tone neutral, “what’s the f-first lesson?”