His eyes softened, the fire in them dimming to something gentler. “I won’t.”
The thread pulsed with light, steady as a heartbeat.
Riya reached for it. Not with control. Not to undo it. But toreshapeit.
The moment her fingers brushed it, the magic surged—a door swinging open. Light flared between them, vast and soundless. She caught a last glimpse of the thread knitting itself back together, strong and firm and steady and—
Gold.
When she came to again, the stage lights flickered back into focus.
Kian remained on the stage, his hand still outstretchedtoward her, a faint glow fading from his chest.
Then, like a tidal wave, the applause came crashing down.
But for Riya, the sound was distant, almost muted. All she could focus on was Kian—how he looked at her, how his presence filled the room even as the magic slipped away.
“You all right?” Quin asked softly.
Riya quickly wiped her eyes and nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I am.”
But when she looked at Kian again, something was wrong. His hands trembled above the keys. For one breathless moment, he remained sitting at the piano—eyes unfocused, breath shallow.
And then Kian slumped to the ground.
“Kian!” Riya’s voice cut through the auditorium, high and sharp with panic.
The applause faltered. Gasps broke the surface like bubbles from a burst spell.
She was already moving.
The stage blurred beneath her as she reached his side, dropping to her knees where Kian had fallen by the piano bench.
His skin was pale. His breath—shallow, but steady.
“Kian,” she whispered. “Please—”
She turned toward the crowd, found the nearest adult. “Call 911!”
Footsteps pounded across the stage. Quin dropped beside her, eyes wide. “What happened?”
“I don’t—” But she stopped herself. She did know. He’d fought the magic. He’d held on, even when it tried to tear itself apart.
And she’d helped.
This wasn’t some wild, inexplicable thing. This was the cost. This was what it meant to fight the balance, to reshape magic into something it was never meant to be. Magic always took something back.
Quin’s hand rested lightly on her arm. “He’s going to be okay. He probably just... burned himself out.”
There was something knowing in their voice. Like they’d seen this before.
Riya didn’t answer. She reached out, brushing the hair from Kian’s forehead. His skin was cool, but his breathing remained steady, like something fragile still holding on.
More footsteps. Mr. Kho knelt beside them, his tie half loosened, his eyes wide with fear.
“Kian...” He reached out but didn’t touch, his hand hovering just above his son’s shoulder. “Riya, what happened? Is he—?”
“He... fainted,” she whispered, the words catching on the edge of her breath.
