Page 72 of Discordant Cultivation

Then he saw it.

A single rose lay on the nightstand, deep red against dark wood. It had a perfect bloom with the stem trimmed at an angle. Next to it sat a leather collar—except it wasn’t the same collar from the basement. The leather looked softer, and when Kieran reached out with tentative fingers, he discovered the inside was lined with fabric that would rest against his skin without chafing.

Why is this here?

Kieran picked up the rose, turning it slowly between his fingers. No thorns. Vale had removed every single thorn, leaving only a smooth stem and perfect petals. Beauty without danger, or danger carefully disguised as beauty.

The door opened before he could decide which.

Vale entered carrying a breakfast tray, dressed casually in dark jeans and a soft sweater that made him look painfully normal.His gaze went immediately to Kieran’s bare neck, then to the collar on the nightstand.

The temperature in the room dropped.

“Good morning.” Vale’s voice stayed neutral as he set the tray on the dresser. “I see you found your gifts.”

Gifts. As if the rose and upgraded restraint were thoughtful presents rather than... whatever this actually was.

“The collar,” Kieran started, his fingers still wrapped around the rose stem. “W-why do I ha-have to—”

Vale crossed the space between them so quickly, Kieran brought his arm up, blocking access to his neck. He wasn’t sure what would happen, but it felt like the right thing to do. Vale picked up the new collar with the same care someone might use for delicate jewelry, then sat on the edge of the bed.

“Arms down,” Vale said, not quite an order, but not quite a request either.

Vale didn’t acknowledge the question, but he also didn’t pretend he hadn’t heard. He just waited for Kieran to comply.

He’s not going to tell me. Whatever the reason is, it’s not something he’s willing to explain. And I don’t know what he’s going to do if I fight him on this.

Kieran lowered his arm, his jaw clenched, and he closed his eyes as Vale fastened the collar around his throat.

The padding made it different. Still present, still a constant reminder of his captivity, but softer. Almost comfortable, if comfort was something that could exist in this context.

Vale’s thumb traced the edge where leather met skin, hooking two fingers beneath it like he was checking the fit on a dog. “Better?”

Kieran swallowed against the weight of it—both the collar and the question. “It’s... d-different.”

“Good different?” Vale’s fingers lingered at Kieran’s throat, possessive even without pressure.

“I d-don’t know yet.”

Vale’s expression softened. “Honesty. I appreciate that.”

He stood, retrieving the breakfast tray. Fruit and yogurt and toast arranged with care. When he set it across Kieran’s lap, his movements were gentle, domestic, completely divorced from the days of brutality he endured in the basement.

“Eat,” Vale said simply. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

And then he left.

He just... left.

Kieran stared at the closed door, at the breakfast tray balanced on his thighs, at the rose still clutched in one hand.

What just happened?

The confusion was worse than a threat. At least a threat was predictable. At least with a threat, Kieran knew where he stood—terrified but clear on the parameters. This? This gentle correction followed by solitude?

What does he want from me? What’s the price for the nicer collar and the thornless rose?

Kieran picked at the fruit, his appetite absent, waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the knock on the door that would summon him to the basement.