Elias didn’t believe in signs.

  He believed in bad luck, bad timing, and bad decisions.

  Signs were for people who needed the universe to tell them what to do. Elias didn’t need that.

  Which was why he was absolutely not going to think about the way the past twenty-four hours had felt off.

  He wasn’t going to think about Danny’s words.

  He wasn’t going to think about the déjà vu at the bar.

  And he definitely wasn’t going to think about the way his music had felt like someone else’s hands were guiding his own.

  Instead, he was going to do what he always did.

  Keep moving.

  Keep playing.

  Keep pretending that everything was exactly the way it should be.

  So, when a man approached him that afternoon and offered him a gig, Elias didn’t question it.

  Maybe he should have.

  But he didn’t.

  Because this—this was normal.

  Right?

  —

  The offer came from a guy named Richard Lyle.

  Slick, well-dressed, the kind of man who probably used the word synergy unironically. He spotted Elias playing on the street, watched for a little too long, then walked up like he had just found a hidden gem.

  “You’re good,” Richard said.

  Elias smirked. “Yeah, I know.”

  Richard chuckled, clearly taking it as confidence and not Elias’ usual brand of sarcasm. “I run a little venue just a few blocks from here. We do live music nights. I think you’d be a great fit.”

  Elias blinked.

  A gig?

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  That was rare these days. People didn’t just offer him gigs. Not anymore.

  His gut twisted—not in fear, just… hesitation.

  It felt too easy.

  But that wasn’t the real problem.

  The real problem was that some part of him was relieved.

  A quiet, greedy part of him whispered, Finally.

  Finally, the world was paying attention again. Finally, things were turning around.

  And that—that was dangerous.

  Because if he let himself believe it, really believe it, then he had to ask the question he’d been avoiding.

  Why now?

  Why, after years of being overlooked, was he suddenly visible again?

  Why did people suddenly remember him?

  And why did it feel like the moment he touched his guitar, something else played through him?

  His fingers curled slightly against the strap of his guitar case.

  He wasn’t going to entertain those thoughts.

  Because if he did—if he actually started questioning things—he might not like the answer.

  So Elias smiled, shoved the nagging feeling aside, and held out his hand. “Sounds great.”

  —

  That night, Elias arrived at the venue early.

  It wasn’t a bad place. Low lighting, an actual stage, decent acoustics. The kind of spot where up-and-coming musicians fought for a slot.

  And yet, he hadn’t fought for this one.

  It had been handed to him.

  That should have meant something.

  But Elias wasn’t going to think about that.

  He set up, tuned his guitar, and by the time he was ready, the place had filled up.

  People watched as he walked onto the stage.

  And just like yesterday—something shifted.

  Elias played.

  And the world tilted.

  It was subtle at first.

  A strange lightness in his fingers, like the music was flowing through him instead of from him. Like something unseen was guiding the notes, helping him play better than he should have been able to.

  And the crowd—

  They watched him like they remembered something.

  Like they had forgotten him, and now they didn’t know why.

  Elias’ fingers faltered on the last note.

  For a moment, the silence stretched too long.

  Then someone clapped.

  Then another.

  And then the whole room was cheering.

  Elias smiled. He should have felt good.

  But instead, there was a hollow space in his chest.

  Because deep down, he didn’t believe in second chances.

  Not really.

  He had spent years clawing at something that had slipped through his fingers, watching it disappear while the world moved on.

  That’s how life worked.

  You lost things.

  You didn’t get them back.

  So if this was real—if the world was suddenly willing to give him another shot—then it wasn’t free.

  Nothing ever was.

  And if there was a price, he didn’t remember paying it.

  —

  After the show, Richard clapped him on the back.

  “That was fantastic,” he said. “Haven’t seen a reaction like that in a while.”

  Elias grinned, still riding the high of the performance. “Well, I am fantastic.”

  Richard laughed. “You’re cocky. I like that.”

  Elias leaned against the bar, sipping at the free drink Richard had handed him. He could get used to this. Maybe his luck was finally turning around.

  Then—

  “You know, I haven’t seen someone play like that since Valen.”

  Elias almost choked on his drink.

  He set the glass down, wiping his mouth. “Sorry, who?”

  Richard raised an eyebrow. “Valen. You never heard of him?”

  Elias shook his head, but something in his chest felt wrong.

  Not panic. Not fear.

  Something familiar.

  Like the name should mean something.

  Richard shrugged. “Weird. He was big in certain circles. Came out of nowhere, set the scene on fire, then disappeared. Total mystery.”

  Elias forced a laugh. “Sounds dramatic.”

  Richard smirked. “Isn’t that what legends are made of?”

  Elias wanted to let it go.

  He wanted to finish his drink, shake Richard’s hand, take the money, and move on.

  But something about the name clung to him.

  Like a song he couldn’t get out of his head.

  —

  Later that night, Elias sat on the edge of his bed, turning the name over in his mind.

  Valen.

  It shouldn’t mean anything to him.

  But it did.

  His fingers twitched. Without thinking, he picked up his guitar.

  He strummed once.

  And something whispered through the strings.

  Not words. Not voices.

  Just a feeling.

  Like something just beneath the surface.

  Like the edge of a memory.

  Elias exhaled slowly.

  Then he played again.

  And somewhere, unseen, a pawn shop owner adjusted his cufflinks.

  Not Valen.

  Not anymore.

  That was a name left behind, one of many tools used when it suited him.

  But it had done its job.

  Elias was restless now, unwilling but unable to ignore the pull of something unfinished.

  That was how it started.

  A whisper. A nudge.

  A name from another time, dropped into the right hands.

  The best deals were never forced.

  They were led.

  And Elias was already following.