Chapter 17
SAGE
The House of Music was a riot of chaos and charm. A place where everything felt louder—wilder—alive. From the outside, it didn’t look like much. Weatherworn bricks. Faded murals peeling from the walls like molting skin. But inside, it pulsed.
A living, breathing thing.
It was as if the walls themselves inhaled every shout, every scream, every bass drop, and exhaled them in raw, eclectic art.
And beneath its unassuming exterior, buried like a secret only the bold could find, was the basement stage.
An intimate den where the ceilings hung low and flickering lights swayed in sync with the pulse of the crowd.
The air was thick and drenched in the scent of whiskey, cheap beer, cigarettes half-smoked, and something else I couldn’t quite name.
Something electric.
A charge crackled under my skin, filling the space between each ragged breath.
It hummed through the soles of my boots, up through my spine, until I swore it was becoming a part of me.
And for the first time in weeks—maybe even months—I felt awake.
Like I belonged to something bigger than the ache that had been eating me alive.
I had resisted coming here. Sam had practically dragged me out by my wrists, her usual sunshine glow laced with iron determination.
“You need this,” she had said earlier that night.
She wasn’t wrong.
The suffocating silence of my apartment had become unbearable like a self-made prison with walls that whispered things I didn’t want to hear.
But the moment I stepped through the battered entrance to this place, the moment the bass thundered against my ribs, something deep inside me cracked open.
And for a second, just a second, I remembered who I used to be.
Before everything.
This was freedom and I clung to it like it might vanish.
Even now, with the weight of my past pressed tight against my ribs and with the memories waiting to swallow me into the dark, I let myself smile.
At least, for tonight.
Because here, in this dim room humming with life, I could almost believe the past hadn’t hollowed me out.
Almost.
But even here—even standing in the thrumming heart of the music where bodies swayed like one living thing— I couldn’t outrun him.
Reich.
That name carved itself into me, a brand that refused to fade.
I shouldn’t feel this way.
Not after everything I’d survived. Not after Klay. Not after clawing my way out of something that nearly broke me beyond repair.
I shouldn’t have space left for another man.
Reich shouldn’t be the shadow under every thought, the beat beneath my skin, but he somehow was, and I hated him for it.
But I hated myself more.
He had made his stance clear.
And yet, I still felt his absence like a phantom limb.
A wound that refused to close.
Why did I still want him when he so clearly didn’t want me?
I tried to shake the thought and tried to lose myself in the music, in the rush of strangers pressing close, their bodies warm and wild.
Fake it till you make it. That was my mantra for the night.
Pretend I didn’t care.
Pretend he wasn’t there in the back of my head, like an echo I couldn’t silence.
I was getting good at lying to myself.
But deep down, I knew the truth.
It wasn’t just about him.
It was about what he made me feel.
That momentary flicker of connection.
The spark that had set something inside me alight, only for him to douse it the second I reached for more.
And still, I wanted it more than anything, even if it destroyed me.
Sam tugged at my hand, pulling me through the crowd.
We threaded our way past groups pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, bodies swaying in a synchronized rhythm that vibrated through the floor.
She left to go get drinks, settling into our routine at concerts.
I would hold our spot while she went to grab refreshments, while I waited for her to return.
The music was deafening, a storm that consumed everything else.
But it was good, and I let it fill me. Let it drown out the gnawing ache in my chest.
Until I felt it.
The shift.
A presence.
Heavy and watching.
I turned before I could think and saw someone I wasn’t expecting.
Castor.
Standing just a few feet away.
His gaze locked onto mine like a tether snapping tight between us.
Something inside me stilled.
No longer swaying to the music.
No longer breathing easy.
“Castor?” I forced his name out past the lump rising in my throat, before continuing, “Sam went to get drinks. I thought you were…aren’t you supposed to be working?”
I tried for casual, but the words faltered.
His expression didn’t soften.
If anything, it hardened, as he answered, “I am.”
His tone was low, measured and too careful.
Almost… regretful.
My stomach twisted as I realized that something was wrong. Very wrong.
“…Do you work here?” I asked slowly, a tremor sneaking into my voice.
His expression didn’t change. “Not for the House of Music.”
Six words.
And the floor vanished beneath my feet.
“What does that mean?” I demanded, though my body already knew the answer.
Every cell screaming in warning.
Run.
But I didn’t move fast enough.
He did.
One second, he was in front of me.
The next, he was behind.
His hand clamped down on my shoulder, his fingers digging in just enough to root me in place.
Not enough to hurt.
His breath was warm against my ear.
And ice cold in his words, “I’m really sorry about this, Sage.”
Panic hit me like a tidal wave.
I wrenched against his grip, but it was too late.
I felt the sting.
Something sharp pressed against the side of my neck.
A needle.
The sting blossomed into heat, spreading fast.
Faster than I could fight.
I stumbled, the world tilting on its axis as dizziness slammed into me like a punch. The colors bled together and the bass turned to static, warping into a low, throbbing hum.
I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out.
The floor rose to meet me and then the darkness swallowed me whole.