Page 177 of Discordant Cultivation

“I’m so sorry,” Jericho said, following as Kieran continued his retreat toward the basement stairs. “I should have done something sooner. Back at the studio, when I confronted you in the green room—I told you I’d been talking to someone willing to go public. That was Alex. I should have pushed harder then, but I thought...” She shook her head. “I lost a friend to someone like Vale. Someone who made her think the abuse was love. I promised myself I’d never leave anyone behind again.”

“There’s n-nothing to help with!” Kieran’s back hit the basement doorframe. “You don’t understand. This is—we’re—”

“Alex told me about the lessons,” Jericho continued, her eyes tracking the faded marks on Kieran’s wrists before settling on the collar around his throat. “The basement. The systematic breaking down. The way Vale makes you think you need the pain to create.”

“St-Stop!” The word tore from Kieran’s throat. He bolted down the basement stairs, needing the familiar space, needing to be somewhere that felt like home instead of this nightmare of intrusion and unwanted salvation.

But Jericho followed, her footsteps quick on the wooden stairs, and when Kieran reached the bottom he heard her sharp intake of breath as she took in the space.

The soundproofing that turned the basement into perfect isolation. The recording equipment positioned to capture every angle. The chair with restraints still attached to it from the last time Kieran squirmed too much during a reminder lesson, soft leather that didn’t leave marks but held firmly when tightened.

“Thorn.” Her voice was as gentle as it was horrified. “This isn’t normal. This isn’t love. Look at this place.”

She moved toward the chair, fingers hovering over the restraints without touching. “Is he torturing you? In this?”

“You d-don’t understand!” Kieran was already moving back toward the stairs, needing to get away from her pity and her judgment. “You need to l-leave. Please, just—”

But Alex was at the top of the stairs now, blocking his path, and Kieran skidded to a halt on the landing.

“I said the same things you’re saying,” Alex said. “I thought he was helping me too. I thought the lessons were making me better, stronger, more authentic.” His laugh was bitter and sharp enough to cut glass. “But I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t break the right way. So he let me go.”

Something shifted in his expression—like envy mixed with resentment, a twisted longing that made Kieran feel sick.

“You got the full treatment though, didn’t you?” Alex’s eyes moved over Kieran’s visible marks with an intensity that felt invasive. “Everything I wanted, he gave to you. He never—” His voice cracked. “He never touched me the way he obviously touches you. He never looked at me the way he looks at you.”

The observation should have been humiliating, shameful even. Instead, Kieran felt a flicker of pride.

He chose me. Not you. Me.

“That’s b-because I’m better than you,” Kieran blurted out. “Because I understand what he’s t-trying to—”

Jericho’s hand closed around his wrist—a firm grip, thumb pressing against his radial artery exactly the way Vale did. The touch was meant to be soothing, grounding, but it felt all wrong. Her skin was too soft, her pressure too imprecise, nothing like Vale’s hands.

“Please, just come with us,” she said, following as Kieran jerked away and continued up the stairs. “We have a place you can stay. You’ll be safe. You can get help, real help, from people who—”

“D-Don’t touch me!” Kieran wrenched his arm free, spinning to face her on the narrow steps. “You don’t get to t-touch me like that! Only Vale—only he—”

“We’re not leaving without you,” Alex said, still blocking the top of the stairs, his body a wall between Kieran and freedom.

Panic crested into something approaching hysteria. Kieran’s breath came in short gasps, copper flooding his mouth as stress pushed his nervous system toward dangerous territory. “Please l-leave. You can’t be here. Just go. Please just g-go!”

Jericho reached for him again with those too soft hands, trying to guide him up the stairs toward where Alex waited. Her fingers wrapped around his forearm, pulling. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get you somewhere safe—”

Kieran shoved her.

Not hard. Just enough to make her stop touching him, to create distance, to make her understand that he didn’t want her help or her pity or her hands on his body.

Her foot caught the edge of the step.

Time fractured.

Kieran saw her eyes widen—not with fear yet, just surprise, the beginning of understanding that balance was already lost. Herarms pinwheeled, fingers grasping at air that offered nothing to hold. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

He reached for her.

His hand shot forward on pure instinct, fingers stretching toward her sleeve, her arm, anything he could grab. For one endless moment, his fingertips brushed fabric—cotton, soft, warm from her body heat—and then it slipped away.

She fell.