Page 42 of Hunger & Harmony

He responds like he heard me clearly. Heard things I didn’t say.

“I don’t play like this when someone’s listening.”

A smile touches my lips. I turn my gaze to the horizon, and the sun that’s waking in the east.

“I’m not just someone.”

He doesn’t reply. Doesn’t have to, even if I want to hear it.

The music trails off, and the guitar is promptly placed to his side. I give him my full attention when he rises from the bench and steps towards me.

“I don’t know what it is,” I say, voice quiet and honest.

Each step he takes is deliberate. To the beat of a song only we can hear. He stops just short of touching me, and I will my hands not to react. An amber glow spills over the horizon, and warmth reaches for him, fatal as it caresses his features. My heart skips a beat as the dawn illuminates his pale skin in iridescent fractals.

“But that was different,” I continue. “Like what others describe when they hear you.”

“It isn’t the music,” he says, and my brows furrow in confusion.

His cool touch suddenly smooths over my eyebrows, a whisper of amusement on his illuminated face.

“You are different.”

Just like that, he’s gone. He brushes past me with no smirk or swagger, disappearing into the dark corridor without another word.

My hand flies up to my chest, pressing against my heart. He’s carved something in there, made from gravity and heat. The feeling is too visceral. I know I’m not dreaming.

I don’t move from where I stand, breathless as my eyes turn from his guitar to the brightening sky.

Sweat dries to the back of my neck. I’m pretty sure I’ve redone my ponytail over three times in the past hour. At least I got a solid seven hours of sleep before this show because it’s been brutal.

In the best way. The heaviness eased, even for only a few hours. Ezren’s drumsticks were flying, and I’ve never seen Selene so deep in the music. Even Ryel went all out, and promptly fell upon eager groupies after the show.

Everyone’s exhausted, but at least it feels earned. Like a victory. And wow, have we been needing one of those.

It’s also been a nice distraction. A reason to face Niko without having to process all that’s happened. Not that I’ve once stopped thinking about the wrong notes sounding right on his guitar. Or the way he looked in the morning light.

I take another swig of water before continuing my rounds. We’ll be heading back to the hotel soon, and tomorrow, we’re off to Velhollow. It’s further northeast, but the shortest drive of the entire tour. I’m looking forward to less anxiety and a quieter city.

All around me, backstage staff wrap up. There’s a hushed peace back here after a show. The echoes of groaning equipment, tired chatter, and footsteps create a different kind of music. It’s one I’ve come to appreciate. Without Arteria, or even Niko, I would choose this job again.

I move into the dressing areas, my hand turning the knob of the first door without thinking. Really, I should know better. It’s in the job description to be respectful and knock. But I didn’t, and I can’t say I regret it completely.

The post-concert buzz still hums in this dressing room, though quieter. Only one lamp glows golden near the leather couch. It acts as a personal spotlight, Niko shining even off-stage.

His makeup has been scrubbed away, and his dark hair falls in damp strands over his eyes. He lies half-sprawled across velvet cushions, black shirt half-unbuttoned and boots confidently planted miles apart on the vinyl floor. He looks wrecked, regal, and dangerous in a way I’m not used to.

I swallow hard when his half-lidded eyes find me—a king unmade.

Jitters rush through me. I’m ridiculously alert when shy, and that’s why I hate it. Why are nerves fluttering in my stomach? This isn’t anything I haven’t seen. If anything, we’ve been closer than this.

“Water?” I ask, raising the bottle in my hand.

“Hmm?”

Wow. His voice is an octave lower, even just humming. The distance between us becomes all the more prominent. Or maybe how easily we could close it.

“Oh, wait.”