But not today. Today, I just have to finish reviewing these lyrics and sign the NDA that's waiting in my inbox. Today, I just have to survive until tomorrow, when I'll see Jeni and maybe—maybe—find the courage to tell her the truth.
I gather my things slowly, tucking my notebook back into my bag with care. The NDA documents from Mina sit in my email, waiting to be reviewed and signed. It's a simple matter of clicking buttons and confirming my commitment to secrecy, my promise not to reveal anything about SIREN's upcoming album until the company decides the world is ready to know.
A small, hysterical part of me wonders if there should be an NDA for the other secret I'm keeping—the five gray flowers hidden beneath my collar, the possibility that I'm about to become the most sought-after omega in South Korea if my suspicions are correct.
SIREN's missing soulmate. The one they've been waiting for.
The thought makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time.
I sign the NDA without really reading it—I've seen enough of these to know the standard language—and send it back to Mina with a brief note confirming receipt. Then I gather my things and head for the door, pausing at the light switch.
The studio is quiet, peaceful, exactly the refuge I've always needed. But as I stand in the doorway, I realize that it feels different now. Smaller, somehow. Like the walls are closing in, or like I've outgrown the safety they once provided.
My mother had a sanctuary too—her piano, her music, the art that gave her a reason to keep going even when the broken bond was draining her dry. But in the end, even that wasn't enough. The emptiness caught up with her, and all the music in the world couldn't fill the hole where her soul used to be.
Will my studio become the same kind of tomb? A place where I hide from life instead of living it, creating art about emotions I'm too afraid to actually feel?
The thought is uncomfortable, so I push it aside and flip off the light. The studio plunges into darkness, lit only by the glow of city lights through the window, and I close the door behind me with a decisive click.
Tomorrow. I'll face everything tomorrow.
Tonight, I just need to get home, eat something that isn't coffee, and try to sleep despite the mark that's still pulsing gently against my throat.
Chapter Three
KEIRA
The café is already humming with life when I arrive the next morning, the familiar scent of freshly ground coffee and warm pastries wrapping around me. Sunlight streams through the large windows, catching the steam rising from cups and turning it into tiny swirling galaxies. The space is cozy and eclectic, mismatched vintage furniture, walls covered in local art that changes monthly, plants hanging from macramé holders that Jeni always threatens to steal.
Our usual spot in the corner is miraculously empty, the worn velvet armchairs positioned perfectly to watch the world go by while remaining slightly hidden from casual observers. I claim it before anyone else can, sinking into the familiar cushions and letting out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
I slept poorly last night. Dreams of drowning, of hands reaching for me through dark water, of my mother's scarred neck and sad eyes. I woke more than once with my own hand pressed against my mark, feeling its warmth pulse against my palm like a second heartbeat.
The five flowers are still gray. Still waiting. I've checked approximately seventeen times since yesterday.
"Birthday girl!" Jeni's voice cuts through the ambient noise of the café, and I look up to see her weaving between tables with the grace of someone who's spent years navigating crowded spaces. She's dressed in her signature style, bold colors and interesting textures that somehow work together despite breaking every fashion rule I know. Today it's a mustard yellow cardigan over a floral dress, her dark hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun that probably took thirty minutes to look that effortless.
She reaches me in seconds, pulling me up from my chair and into a hug that's too tight and exactly what I needed.
"You look terrible," she announces cheerfully, holding me at arm's length to study my face. "Did you sleep at all?"
"Good morning to you too," I manage, but I can't help smiling. Jeni has never believed in softening her observations, and after years of friendship, I've learned to appreciate her honesty. "And no, not really."
"Hmm." She releases me and drops into the chair across from mine, signaling to the barista with a practiced wave. "Birthday anxiety? Mark anxiety? General existential dread?"
"All of the above."
"Fair." She leans forward, eyes bright with barely contained curiosity. "So? Are you going to show me, or do I have to wrestle you for it?"
My hand moves instinctively to my neck, where the mark pulses gently beneath my cream turtleneck. I'd chosen the high collar deliberately, wanting to control the reveal, but now that the moment is here, I find myself hesitating.
"It's... a lot," I say slowly. "More than I expected."
Jeni's expression softens slightly, some of the manic energy fading into genuine concern. "Hey. Whatever it is, you know I'm not going to judge. It's just a mark, Keira. It doesn't define you."
Except it does. That's exactly what marks do—they define your future, your connections, the shape your life will take whether you want it to or not. But Jeni doesn't know that. Jeni grew up in a house where soulmates were celebrated, where her parents' matching marks were displayed proudly and their love story was told at every family gathering. She doesn't know what happens when bonds go wrong.
She's about to find out.
