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When he reaches out to stroke my cheek, I flinch back in terror and let out a sound like a dying animal. I slam into the nightstand. The lamp wobbles and crashes to the floor. The noise scares me again. I jerk sideways, then jump up and fling the window open. The cool night air loosens the chain around my chest, and I manage to breathe again.

A knock sounds at the door.

“Everything okay?” Koh asked.

My legs give out. I slide down under the window, elbows on my knees, and drag my hands over my sweat-soaked face and through my hair. My whole body feels like a drawn bowstring. Fear sits heavy on the back of my neck.

After Vadim attacked me, I spent a whole week in the infirmary. Blood loss, a concussion, a broken rib, and countless bruises. But the worst part was realizing I hadn’t died. It dropped me into such a deep hole that they put me on antidepressants for a while.

“Should I come in?” His voice is muffled through the door.

What the hell is with this guy?

Using the bed for support, I drag myself across the dark room. Exhausted, I reach the door and crack it open, resting my shoulder against the wall.

Koh stands in the dimly lit hallway with Pixie at his feet. Both look worried.

“What?” I snap, wiping sweat from my forehead again.

“Everything okay?” He glances past me into the dark room. “That sounded… bad.”

“What do you want?” I ask wearily. “First you hate me, then you kiss me, then you hate me again, and now you’re worried about me?”

As if he just remembered he can’t stand me, his expression hardens. “Forget it.” He turns away with the dog, heading back to his room.

It’s almost four a.m. and I know the night is over for me. Even if I wanted to, I won’t fall asleep again. Instead of torturing myself by trying, I shower, put on fresh clothes, grab a drink in the kitchen, and disappear into the studio.

For five years, I worked on songs in my head and couldn’t wait to record them. Since I’ve been back, though, I’ve used the studio for something else entirely.

Like a man possessed, I try to dig into the noise that constantly roars in my head. I listen to it, hoping to find something in the chaos, but it sounds like a trapped man screaming his soul out while distorted metallic noise drowns him.

Cut off from the outside world, I sink into sounds that mirror my deepest self. They make me forget the headaches that have plagued me since my release. I ignore the daylight creeping in and focus only on the music.

The kitchen clock already says ten when I go to the fridge for another drink. I wonder if it’d be okay to steal a few of Koh’s eggs. His bedroom door is open, but he’s not home.

Without overthinking it, I help myself and make an omelet.

In prison, I worked kitchen duty. I spent most days washing dirty dishes—it had a strangely calming effect. Sometimes I cooked and served food. Any job that kept me busy was fine with me.

With a full plate, I sit at the dining table overlooking the terrace and eat. Afterward, I scroll through the news on my phone and catch up on the world.

I stay away from the tabloids as much as possible. Whenever I see a picture of Grave Sinner, I scroll past.

I don’t want to know what people are saying about last night’s show. I already know it was good. If expectations are higher now, I can’t change that. I gave everything I had.

Around noon, a metallic rattle comes from the door. Koh walks in with a key in one hand and a full grocery bag in the other, Pixie trotting behind him. The dog clearly got a haircut—she no longer looks like an old-lady dog. With the trim, she’s pretty badass.

“Hey,” he greets and heads straight for the kitchen to stock the fridge.

“Hi,” I reply without moving. From where I’m sitting, I only have to turn my head to watch him work. “I took three eggs. Hope that’s okay.”

“Of course.”

What the hell got into me last night? Yeah, Koh is attractive, but in hindsight, he’s not my type.

Or maybe he is?

Sometimes he’s unshaven and his hair is a little messy, which I like. But it’s hard to read him. The fact that he’s a dentist but now works as a dog walker and ended up house-sitting my apartment makes it obvious there’s more to his story. Maybe that’s why he tries so hard to be proper.