Page 98 of Discordant Cultivation

Please let go.

“Ah.” Nox released his wrist and Kieran let out a shaky sigh. But Nox shifted closer until their thighs touched. “So you’re not involved in the technical aspects of your own artistry? Interesting.”

He’s too close. He’s touching me. Why is he touching me? What should I do?

“At Two Suns, our artists have full creative control, you know. Complete artistic freedom.” Nox placed his arm along the back of the couch, not quite touching Kieran but close enough to make him feel trapped. “I have to ask—is the music you’re performing what you actually want to be performing? Or is this what Valerian thinks is most... authentic?”

The way he said ‘authentic’ felt like he knew more than he was letting on.

Vander said he pushed back. I need to push back…

“I w-write the lyrics. The m-music comes from me.”

“But the presentation? The aesthetic? The methods used to extract that particular level of emotional honesty?” Nox’s fingers drummed against the couch. His other hand brushed Kieran’s thigh as he grabbed the bottle of vodka still held between his legs. “Here, have another drink. You seem tense.”

Kieran shook his head. “N-no than—”

“The thing about artistic development is there are many approaches. Some more... intensive than others. At my company, artists explore their creativity with gentle hands,” he continued without seeming to hear Kieran. “As long as production stays happy, of course. Would that interest you? Making music on your own terms?”

Nox’s hand found the loose ends of Kieran’s untied tie.

Kieran tried to pull back, but Nox’s fingers were already twisting the silk, winding it around his hand until the fabric grew taut against Kieran’s throat.

“S-stop,” Kieran managed, his hands coming up to claw at the fabric. He looked towards the door again, feeling his lower lip begin to tremble as he tried to tell his body to move, to get up, to dosomething.

Nox pulled him closer, using the tie like a leash. “That’s not how you keep production happy.”

The room grayed at the edges—not from a lack of oxygen, but from pure panic. This wasn’t Vale’s controlled pressure designed to calm him. This was someone else’s power, someone else’s methods, someone who didn’t know or care about the careful balance between control and damage.

The door burst open, slamming against the wall.

The performer in all white stomped in, popping off press-on nails with sharp clicks and yanking fake eyelashes from her eyes. “Fucking soprano bullshit, I can’t hit those notes and they fucking know it—”

Help me.

She stopped when she saw them. Nox’s position, Kieran’s wide-eyed terror, the twisted tie around his throat.

“Oh. Sorry, didn’t mean to—” She hesitated, looking between them. “I’ll just—”

She backed out quickly, closing the door with quiet finality.

The silence that followed felt deafening. Nox’s grip on the tie tightened, pulling Kieran closer as he grinned.

“Now,” Nox said softly, “where were we?”

30

Kronos-complex, eating children for breakfast; Daedalus-dangerous, creative genius turned reckless…

Vale

Alex Thayer.

His failed project stood across the room, staring at Vale with an expression that mixed malcontent, fury, and something deeper—the kind of wounded hurt that came from being found wanting and discarded.

Vale’s hand stilled against Kieran’s wrapped knuckles. Alex’s presence here was a threat. If Alex approached Kieran, if his bitterness and jealousy poisoned the careful trust Vale had built—

Vale stopped the thought before it could complete. Even internally, he struggled to articulate what Kieran actually was to him. Different. Unprecedented. Special in ways that had nothing to do with talent alone.