Page 15 of Discordant Cultivation

Vale’s hand remained pressed against his chest, his thumb resting just above his heart like he was measuring the rhythm. “I’m not keeping you anywhere. You’re recovering from a medical emergency under proper supervision.”

“This isn’t a hos-hospital.”

“No. It’s better. Private. Quiet. No interruptions.” Vale’s fingers spread slightly, claiming more territory. “No distractions from your recovery.”

Kieran tried to step backward, but the bed blocked his retreat. Vale had him trapped in a space that felt suffocatingly small.

“What do you w-want from me?”

Vale smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that seemed devastatingly genuine and absolutely unhinged. “I want to help you reach your full potential, Kieran. That performance after your week away—it was extraordinary. Raw. Real. Everything your music could be if you stopped protecting yourself from what it takes to create something meaningful.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m practical.” Vale leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “So you’re going to stay here until you understand what I’m offering you. Until you’re ready to accept the gift I’m giving you.”

A gift. Like kidnapping was a present. Like holding someone against their will was generosity.

Kieran’s vision went gray around the edges. Not a seizure—panic. Pure, animal terror at being trapped by someone who spoke about gifts and help while preventing him from leaving.

“P-please.” The word came out smaller than he’d intended. “I j-j-just want to go home.”

Vale’s free hand came up to cup his face, his thumb brushing across his cheek in a way that made Kieran feel sick. “You are home, beautiful boy. You just don’t know it yet.”

6

The bells that ring in my steeple are just seizures disguised as people…

Kieran

Kieran woke up angry.

Not the confused, medicated drift of yesterday, but sharp awareness that felt like being slapped awake. His head still ached, but the fog lifted enough to remember exactly why he was in this fancy bedroom instead of his own crappy apartment.

He kidnapped me. Vale Rose fucking kidnapped me.

The clock on the nightstand read 6:43 AM. Pale morning light filtered through curtains that probably cost more than Kieran made in three months of busking. Everything in the room was beautiful, expensive, and absolutely wrong.

Time to figure out how to get the hell out of here.

Kieran listened at the door for a full minute before opening it. Silence. No footsteps, no coffee machine sounds, no indication that Vale was awake yet. Good. That gave him time to actually explore this prison without an audience.

The hallway had artistic lighting, leading to rooms that probably had names like “the conservatory” and “the library.” Rich people bullshit. But right now, Kieran didn’t care about Vale’s aesthetic choices—he cared about finding an exit.

The first door he tried was locked. So was the second. And the third.

Okay. Not great.

He found a bathroom, still unlocked. That was good, though the idea of just randomly pissing in a house plant was becoming more and more appealing to him the longer he stayed trapped.

The thought gave him a small burst of satisfaction that lasted until he tried the next door.

Also locked.

And the next. And the next.

Every door except the bathroom and his bedroom required a key. Vale literally locked him into a two-room section of this house like a pet in a cage.

Fuck.