Page 47 of Hunger & Harmony

“I just didn’t want you to be alone.”

Holy crap. My face is red. I’m on fire, despite the freezing temperature, and I can’t look him in the eye any longer. Wow, way to make him feel better. I suck in a breath before I promptly turn around.

“W-Well, anyway, have a nice night⁠—”

“Cadence.”

I freeze.

“You don’t know the way back. And it’s too cold,” he says. “HR, remember?”

It’s not as lighthearted as the first time he said that. Still, I turn back to see his gaze softened. He motions for me to follow, and I hurry to catch up to his side as he strides down the road.

He's letting me stay.

I let silence fill the space between us, even if I really, really want to say something. Anything. Like making note of the occasional drops that begin to kiss my face. Or how we’re moving away from the livelier part of the street into a more rundown area. Even the lamps are snuffed out over here. I draw closer to him, mostly because my eyes are still adjusting.

When they finally do, a gasp is pulled from my throat.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

The ghost of a grand theatre stands before us. While indistinguishable, faded letters hang off the worn marquee, and the banners are peeling, I immediately recognize what once was. Despite its aging, the building remains beautiful in obscurity. Haunting. There’s nothing broken either, and only a few piles of leaves gather at the entrance Niko leads us to.

“You know this place?” I ask as he opens the doors with ease.

“Not at its prime.” He gently closes us inside. “I’ve never seen it open.”

A flutter of wings sounds from the rafters as we disturb the quiet. Birds must make this place their home. At least they get to enjoy it; the interior is just as stunning in spite of the dust and peeling wallpaper.

“Why, then?”

He hums as we wander along carpeted floors. Some parts are spongy under my boots, like the floorboards are water-damaged. It’s too dim to capture many details, but flashes of neglected opulence tell a clear story. I can picture the ladies and gentlemen in their best outfits here, sipping champagne while lining up for the finest entertainment.

“I think I understand this place,” he answers, his voice as soft as his hands pressing open another set of doors.

The groan of old timber sounds as the auditorium is unveiled. Niko stops for a moment, messing with something near the doors as I peer around. From what I can make out, there are rows and rows of velvet seats all facing the main stage.

A hiss sounds, and I see he lit a match when it’s introduced to a gas lantern. It brightens the room enough to see the aisle we walk down. The layers of dust and the torn grand drapes, too.

“I understand being a shell of former glory,” he continues as we approach the stage.

My eyes fix on his face. He isn’t lying. Not being dramatic, either. As he sets the lantern down and dusts off two of the front row seats, it’s almost natural. An air of peace surrounds him once he settles into the aisle seat, like he truly is in good company.

As I sink into the chair next to him, I understand better. The echoes of applause and lingering emptiness between these silent walls.

“You don’t think you’re glorious now?” I ask, staring up at the stage.

“Do you?”

I glance at him again.

“How could I not? You’re literally the dictionary definition.”

“But do you think so? No dictionary or tabloids to tell you.”

It doesn’t take me even a second to answer.

“Yes.” I’m earnest as I meet his searching gaze creased under strong brows. “No one can tell me how to feel.” I reach over to poke his arm. “No one can tell you that either.”