The next time he saw her, she was on stage again — radiant, composed, unreadable.
Andres sat in the front this time.
He didn't blink.
Halfway through the performance, he imagined strangling the critic seated two rows over. Not because he wanted to — but because it reminded him of who he really was.
He needed that edge. That whisper of violence.
After the show, he waited by the exit.
Thana emerged, flushed from applause. She smiled when she saw him, and for once, the smile seemed... unguarded.
"You came," she said.
"You already knew I would."
They walked. No destination. Just footsteps and rain again.
"I hated playing tonight," she confessed suddenly.
"Why?"
"It felt like I was pretending to be something I'm not."
Andres stopped walking. "What are you, then?"
She looked at him, something dark flashing behind her eyes.
"I don't know yet."
He smiled — not the charming one, but the real one. The dangerous one.
"Maybe I can help you find out."