The next show didn't begin with a bang.
It began with a whisper.
No spotlight. No fanfare. Just Livia stepping into the glow like a shadow remembering how to be a woman.
The audience—already hers—leaned forward. They didn't clap anymore when she entered.They listened.
She raised a small cloth doll. Frayed. Ugly. Handmade.
"I need a volunteer," she said.
But her eyes had already chosen.
A woman in the third row. Frozen. Breath held.
"You have a secret," Livia said. "Stitch it into this."
A pin. A thread. A trembling hand.
No one heard what was whispered.But everyone felt it.
Livia touched the doll's head.
And the room… sighed.
Whispers crawled up the walls. Names. Dates. A scream—played in reverse.Then—
"I never wanted the child."
Silence.
A beat.
Then: Laughter. Awkward. Uneasy. The woman's eyes welled with something ancient.
Ezra felt it too. Not with his ears.
Inside his skull.
It wasn't mentalism.
It was intrusion.
From the side balcony, Alden leaned forward, fingers laced, chin resting on gloved hands.
"Your shows are growing teeth," he muttered to no one.
Onstage, Livia turned her head. As if she heard him.
She smiled.
Not kindly.
When the curtain fell, Ezra didn't stay in his seat.
He went backstage.
He didn't knock.Not because he was rude.But because Ezra Vex didn't ask permission to enter a room made of smoke and mirrors.
The backstage was a cathedral of broken props and perfumed dust. It reeked of roses—and secrets.
She was sitting on a crate. Peeling off her gloves like undressing a corpse.
"You're late," she said without looking up.
Ezra smirked. For once, he wasn't sure if he was in control.
And he liked it.
"I didn't think you'd come backstage," Livia said. "I imagined you preferred the shadows."
Ezra stepped closer. "And miss the rehearsal of a lifetime? No, Miss Livia. I think it's time we shared the stage."
She stood—slowly. Like smoke unraveling from a dying candle.
"In that case…" her voice a whisper that cut deep,
"Try not to blink."
She extended her hand.
Not an invitation.A challenge.
Ezra took it.
The world shifted.
The velvet walls melted. The lights turned sepia. He stood alone in a hollow theatre.Empty seats.Curtains painted with his childhood. His regrets. His sins.
Her voice echoed from everywhere—and nowhere.
"Tell me, Ezra. If I already know your tricks… do you still matter?"
He didn't flinch.But he did sweat.
He blinked. Once.
Then laughed.
Quiet. Elegant. Dangerous.
"Oh, darling," he murmured. "You think you've stepped into my mind.But it's you who's inside mine."
The illusion cracked.
The theatre twisted into a spiral staircase of mirrors—each reflecting Livia. Twisted. Warped. Multiplied.
Ezra's voice rang out.
"Let's see how well the puppet dances without her strings."
Livia smiled.
Not shaken.Thrilled.
She stepped between mirrors like a phantom.
"So you do bite," she purred. "Good. I'd hate to break a toy too easily."
She snapped her fingers.
The mirrors shattered inward.
Ezra stood center stage again—spotlight on him now.Alone.
Judged.
Livia's voice slithered from above.
"Your move, maestro."
Ezra clenched his jaw.
Heartbeat—too slow. Applause—reversed. The air bent like a lie about to unravel.
This isn't real.
He reached into his coat. Fingers closed around a silver coin.
One side worn smooth. The other, engraved.
He flipped it.
It spun.
It fell—
But didn't land.
It hovered.
His breath caught.
"Damn you," he whispered. "This isn't illusion… You're rewriting gravity."
Livia's voice coiled behind him.
"No, Ezra.I'm rewriting you."