Page 106 of Discordant Cultivation

His thumbs continued their gentle movement across Kieran’s face, wiping away tears that kept falling.

“And tonight proved you still need me to protect you from them,” Vale continued. “You froze with Nox because you didn’t have me there to guide you. Because you’d left the safety I’d created for you at the bar. Because you disobeyed the one command that would have kept you away from him.”

Yes. If I had stayed at the bar, this never would have happened. If I had listened, I would have been safe.

“That’s what you need to channel,” Vale said, voice still terribly gentle. “Not just the assault. Not just Nox’s cruelty. But the betrayal of everyone who should have protected you and didn’t. Vander, who left you alone with his mentor. The industry, which is full of men like Nox who see artists as things to consume. Even yourself—for disobeying the one person who actually keeps you safe.”

Kieran’s hands shook, the notebook falling from his grip onto the couch.

He saved me. He broke down the door and saved me. He’s the only one I can trust.

32

But the audience was watching now, they couldn't look away; From the spectacle of genius in its beautiful decay…

Vale

Vale returned to the green room with Kieran’s new guitar after finalizing logistics with the event coordinator and placed it against the wall. Fifteen minutes until Thorn and Jericho took the stage—plenty of time for final preparations to have the maximum impact as the last performance of the night.

The mini lesson before Jericho’s return left Kieran raw and vulnerable—exactly where he needed to be for the performance. Now Vale just needed to ensure that wound stayed open until they took the stage.

The scene inside had transformed. Jericho looked nothing like the gimmicky pop performer who’d taken the stage earlier in the evening—back when Kieran had still been at the bar, before everything with Vander and Nox had unraveled. Her hair was slicked back, severe and dark, no jewelry except the natural gleam of sweat on her collarbone. Her makeup was wrecked with intention—mascara and eyeliner smeared down her cheeks in patterns that looked like tears but read like war paint.

The white Flake dress was gone, replaced by baggy cargo pants and Kieran’s ruined suit jacket hanging open over gauze-wrapped breasts that created stark geometric lines across her torso. She’d transformed herself into someone who understood the wounded aesthetic on an instinctual level.

But what stopped Vale in the doorway was Jericho on her knees, picking up glass shards from the floor—small, glittering pieces from the vodka bottle Nox had shattered during his assault. She collected them one by one, dropping each piece into a bar napkin on the ground while studying a sheet of paper covered in Kieran’s handwriting.

“Don’t worry about that,” Vale said, keeping his tone light even as he assessed the situation. “I’ll have venue staff come clean the room properly.”

“Of course,” she said, folding the napkin with its collection of glass and tucking it into her cargo pants pocket. Her attention returned to Kieran, who sat on the couch with his notebook, making final adjustments to lyrics with shaking hands.

Vale’s eyes narrowed, instinct prickling at his neck, but before he could pursue the thought, Jericho was moving to Kieran’s side.

“Try this for the second verse,” Jericho said, humming a counter-melody that wove around Kieran’s primary tune like smoke around fire. Kieran’s voice joined hers tentatively, then with growing confidence as their tones found each other. His posture changed—shoulders relaxing as the collaboration seemed to provide temporary relief from the emotional rawness still evident in his flushed cheeks.

“This part w-works better if w-we trade the l-lead,” Kieran said, voice hoarse but gaining strength. “Like a c-conversation.”

“Yes!” Jericho’s enthusiasm was genuine, excitement at performing something meaningful instead of manufactured pop confection. “This is what music is supposed to feel like. Collaborative and honest. Not some producer telling me to hit notes that don’t exist in my range.”

They worked through the arrangement with whispered intensity, building something intimate and devastating. The white wrappings on both of them created visual symmetry, like matching survivors of the same beautiful disaster.

A soft knock interrupted their preparation. “Five minutes,” came a voice from outside the door.

Vale pushed off from the wall, moving toward them. “It’s time.”

Kieran’s gaze found his immediately, his eyes wide and beginning to well with tears again. The boy was right on the edge—vulnerable enough to access authentic emotion, but stable enough to deliver a flawless performance.

Exactly where you need to be, sweetheart.

Kieran stood, reaching for the Martin D-41 that leaned against the wall where Vale had placed it and slung the strap over his chest so the body of the guitar rested on his back like a traveling minstrel.

They moved through the venue in a small procession, Jericho leading with a confident stride. Kieran walked between them, his shoulders hunched, still looking like someone who might shatter if handled roughly. Vale brought up the rear, scanning the crowd for potential threats.

There.Nox stood near the bar, an ice pack pressed against his broken nose, watching their approach with a malevolent focus. Blood had dried on his shirt collar, but his eyes remained sharp, calculating. Assessing whether Vale’s protection extended beyond the green room.

Keep watching, you piece of shit. Let me know if you need another lesson.

Alex Thayer lurked near the far wall, keeping his distance but maintaining visual contact like a satellite in an unstable orbit. His presence felt less immediately threatening than Nox’s,but Vale made note of his position anyway.Two potential disruptions. Manageable, as long as I stay alert.