Hollow

Adrian adjusted the last of the moving boxes against the wall and exhaled, his palms damp despite the climate-controlled cool of the lobby. The building’s marble floors reflected everything too clearly, a sheen of polished stone that made their belongings look small and temporary. He had expected warmth in a new home, the comfort of fresh paint and new carpets. Instead, this place gleamed like a gallery — flawless and cold.

Lucia trailed behind him, her steps muffled on the rug that ran toward the elevators. She pressed her hand against the wall as though steadying herself, eyes flicking up toward the tall glass panes that revealed the evening skyline.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, though her tone wavered.

Beautiful, yes. But also unnerving. The tower rose above the city like it wanted to be apart from it, steel and glass arranged in angles that drew the eye upward. Adrian had felt it since they first signed the lease — the strange sense that the building was not meant for ordinary people, that it had been constructed with another purpose in mind.

The elevator chimed, its doors sliding open with a soft sigh. Inside, mirrored walls multiplied their images. He caught his own face repeating backward into infinity: tired, uncertain, carrying the weight of cardboard boxes. Beside him, Lucia’s reflection shimmered with each flicker of the light overhead. For a moment she looked older, then younger, then not herself at all. He blinked and it was gone.

They reached the 14th floor. Their apartment smelled faintly of something floral, like lilies pressed too long into a vase. The air seemed pre-arranged, as though someone had prepared the room not just for them but for a performance. Adrian set down the box and rubbed his temples.

A knock came almost immediately, three deliberate taps. He exchanged a look with Lucia — neither of them knew anyone here.

When he opened the door, two figures stood framed in the hall. A woman in a dark green dress, her hair sleek, her smile controlled. A man taller than Adrian, his posture too precise to be casual.

“Welcome,” the woman said. “I’m Selene, this is Marcus. We live just across the hall.” Her voice carried the warmth of a practiced host, but her eyes seemed to appraise them as though measuring for fit.

Before they could reply, she extended a small embossed card. “We’re hosting a little gathering tonight. Nothing formal. Just neighbors meeting neighbors. You’ll come, of course.”

It was not a question.

Lucia accepted the card with both hands, her lips parting as though to refuse, but the woman’s gaze pinned her. Adrian felt the same pressure — gentle but immovable. He nodded before he could stop himself.

“Good,” Selene said, smiling as if the decision had always been theirs. “Eight o’clock. Don’t be late.”

The couple retreated down the hall, leaving the faintest scent of expensive perfume. Adrian shut the door and leaned against it, managing only to say, “That was—” “Strange,” Lucia finished.

She looked at the card. A gold symbol embossed on ivory paper, an intricate spiral that seemed to move when tilted toward the light.

Neither of them spoke of the unease that lingered.

By the time they crossed the hall that evening, the building felt quieter than it should have. No footsteps, no televisions, no sounds of settling in. Just silence, as though every tenant had been drawn to the same destination.

Selene’s apartment opened into a space larger than theirs, decorated with glass sculptures and pale furniture that seemed untouched. Guests mingled with glasses of wine, all of them dressed impeccably, all of them smiling just enough.

Adrian noticed at once that the room lacked the natural rhythm of conversation. People laughed, but their laughter ended too quickly. They sipped their drinks at the same intervals. He glanced at Lucia, who shifted uneasily at his side

Then Selene appeared, guiding them into the room as though she had been waiting at the door.

“Everyone, meet our newest neighbors,” she said with precise intonation.

The faces turned toward them in near unison. Smiles. Polite nods. A brief wave. The synchronization chilled Adrian, though no one else seemed to notice.

Selene guided them toward a corner where a man stood apart. His suit was black, simple, but it seemed to absorb the light. His hair fell across his forehead in dark strands, and his eyes — when they lifted — fixed on Adrian with such intensity he forgot to breathe

“This is Damien,” Selene said, the name almost a whisper. “He has a talent. You’ll enjoy it.”

Damien inclined his head, the faintest acknowledgment. His voice, when it came, was low and smooth, saying simply, “Shall I begin?”

The room answered not with words but with silence. Every guest turned toward him, expectant.

Adrian felt a tug in his stomach, an instinct to leave, to take Lucia’s hand and walk out. But Selene’s palm brushed his arm lightly — a touch so brief it could have been accidental — and the impulse faded.

Damien moved to the center of the room. He did not raise his voice, yet every conversation ceased.

“Breathe,” he said.

The word slid into Adrian’s mind like a stone into water. He realized he had been holding his breath and exhaled sharply. Around the room, others did the same, shoulders lowering in unison.

“Again,” Damien murmured.

Adrian obeyed. So did Lucia. So did everyone.

The hypnotist’s gaze passed slowly from face to face. When his eyes met Adrian’s, the room seemed to blur at the edges. He heard his own breathing louder than the music, louder than the clink of glasses.

“Focus,” Damien said.

And Adrian did. On Damien’s voice, on the cadence that drew each word out just long enough to linger.

Damien stood with his hands at his sides, a stillness that seemed unnatural in a room full of shifting bodies. His voice was not loud, but it filled the space.

“Each breath draws you closer to calm,” he said. “In through the nose. Out through the mouth.”

Adrian’s chest rose and fell before he could resist. He saw the same rhythm ripple through the room: men and women in elegant clothes inhaling and exhaling together, as if they had rehearsed it.

Lucia’s hand trembled in his, but she followed too.

“Let it happen,” Damien murmured. “You have been moving, working, thinking all day. Let that pause. Let the body guide the mind.”

Adrian blinked slowly. He tried to count the seconds between Damien’s words, but the effort slipped away. The man’s tone bent time, stretching silences until they felt endless, then rushing words through before Adrian could react.

“Look,” Damien said softly.

The man raised his hand from across the room. He was holding a small card — the same spiral embossed in gold that had been on their invitation. She tilted it, and the light caught its grooves.

The design swam in Adrian’s vision. He told himself it was only an optical trick, but his eyes locked on it all the same.

“Follow it,” Damien instructed.

The spiral tilted, shimmered, swayed. Adrian felt his breathing synchronize with its movement, as though the symbol itself pulled the air from his lungs.

“Thoughts may come,” Damien said. “They are not needed. Breathe. Watch. Obey.”

The last word lingered. Obey. Adrian felt a strange pressure behind his forehead, as if the word had weight.

Around them, the other guests mirrored the same vacant stare. Adrian wanted to speak — to ask what exactly this was — but his jaw felt locked, as if waiting for permission.

Damien paced slowly, never raising his voice.

“The spiral is constant. The spiral is endless. The spiral is yours. When you see it, you will remember how to feel now: calm, empty, safe,” he declared for them all.

Safe. The word burrowed in. Adrian clung to it even as unease prickled his spine.

“Let your thoughts drift,” Damien continued. “You do not need them. Thinking is heavy. Heavy things sink.”

Adrian’s eyelids sagged. His thoughts scattered like pages in wind. He tried to catch one — a reminder that this was just a trick, that they should leave — but his hand closed on nothing.

“Good,” Damien whispered. “So good to release. So easy to surrender.”

The spiral tilted again in Damien’s hand. Adrian’s head tilted with it. He felt his body sway forward, his balance shifting, but he did not fall. Somehow Damien’s voice steadied him.

“You are learning what the others know,” Damien said. “You are learning what it means to be here. Together. One rhythm. One breath. One silence.”

Silence pressed in. Adrian realized no one else was speaking, not a cough or shuffle. Dozens of bodies breathing as one, eyes locked on the spiral, faces slack.

His vision narrowed, tunneling around the symbol.

“Now close,” Damien said, snapping his finger with authority.

Adrian’s eyes fluttered shut. Relief washed over him. Darkness was easier.

“In the dark, there is no need to question. In the dark, there is only voice. My voice. The spiral waits for you when you open. You will always remember its pull,” he suggested.

Adrian’s head nodded slowly. He didn’t remember deciding to.

“You may wonder if you sleep,” Damien said. “You may wonder if you dream. But wonder is heavy. Let it go. Obedience is lighter. Easier.”

Lucia’s breath beside him had steadied, long and slow. Her hand had gone limp in his, but she did not pull away

Damien’s words folded over themselves, sinking deeper. Adrian felt each phrase blur into the next, until language itself became rhythm.

“Breathing means listening. Listening means obeying. Obeying means safety. Safety means release,” the hypnotist said, emphasis on the word release.

Adrian swayed. Release. Yes. That was what he wanted.

“From this moment,” Damien said, “the spiral belongs to you. When you see it again, you will remember this stillness. This emptiness. This obedience. You will not question. You will not resist. You will only relax,” he commanded.

The word relaxed stretched long, pulling Adrian deeper

He did not know how much time passed. He thought he heard glasses clinking, a laugh, but the sound seemed far away.

Then, as if a switch had been flipped, Damien’s tone brightened. “And now, awake.” Adrian’s eyes snapped open. He blinked rapidly, disoriented. The spiral was gone. Selene was laughing lightly with Marcus near the fireplace. Guests sipped their drinks, smiling, murmuring in casual conversation.

Had it happened? Or had he imagined it?

Lucia stood beside him, her expression calm, almost serene. She looked at him and smiled faintly.

Adrian tried to recall the last few minutes, but his memory stuttered. He remembered Damien’s eyes. The spiral. Then blankness.

Selene appeared again, sliding between guests like water. “You see?” she said, her smile deliberate. “Isn’t it lovely, how easy it is to let go?”

Lucia nodded before Adrian could answer.

Adrian’s throat felt dry. He reached for his glass, but it was already empty. He had no memory of drinking it.

Adrian tried to shake off the fog as the party swirled around him. Glasses clinked, voices murmured, but it all seemed strangely muted, as though he were hearing through water. His fingers curled around Lucia’s hand. It felt clammy, trembling, but she smiled vaguely as though nothing was wrong.

Damien’s voice cut through the haze. “Come with me.”

No one else looked surprised. Selene gave a slight nod, and the crowd parted without hesitation. Adrian and Lucia followed Damien down a narrow hallway lined with pale artwork. The air grew cooler, the music distant.

They entered a smaller room — bare except for three chairs and a low table. A faint lamp cast shadows that seemed to pulse. Damien gestured for them to sit.

Adrian’s first impulse was to refuse, but his knees bent before he could speak. The chair creaked beneath him. Lucia sat beside him, smoothing the fabric of her dress with slow, deliberate movements.

Damien stood opposite, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. He regarded them with eyes that seemed too dark, too steady.

“You are new here,” he said. His tone was calm, unhurried, but it filled the space. “And so you must learn what it means to belong.”

Adrian swallowed. “What—what do you mean, belong?”

“You will see.” Damien reached into his pocket and drew out a card. The spiral glinted under the lamplight, gold lines shimmering, tilting. He held it between two fingers and angled it gently back and forth.

Lucia gasped softly. Her pupils widened. Adrian tried to look away, but his eyes snagged on the pattern.

“The sign,” Damien murmured. “This is your anchor. When you see it, your body remembers calm. Your mind remembers silence. Your will remembers to yield.”

He turned the card again. The spiral swam. Adrian’s breath hitched, then slowed to match the motion.

“Look at it,” Damien instructed. “It is easier that way.”

Adrian’s jaw tightened, but his eyes followed. The spiral drew him in, pulling thought after thought down into its coils.

“Describe yourselves,” Damien said suddenly.

Adrian blinked. “What?”

“Out loud. How you appear.”

Lucia’s voice came first, quiet, unsteady. “I’m twenty-three. I have dark hair, long, straight. Brown eyes. I’m… five-foot-four. Thin.” Her words faltered, but her gaze never left the spiral.

Damien nodded. “And you, Adrian?”

Adrian’s throat felt dry. “I’m twenty-four. Dark hair. Brown eyes. Taller. Six feet. Lean.”

“Good.” Damien tilted the card again. “You know yourselves. That is important. Because soon, you will know yourselves as I tell you.”

The words sank into Adrian’s chest like stones.

“Breathe,” Damien said.

They obeyed.

Damien’s tone softened, almost a lullaby.

“The sign is your key. When you see it, the body relaxes. Muscles loosen. Thoughts grow dim. With each breath, you remember less. With each blink, you surrender more.

And that surrender feels like rest,” he instructed.

Adrian felt his shoulders slump. His head bobbed forward. He tried to sit straighter, but the effort dissolved into the chair.

Lucia let out a small sigh, her hands falling limp in her lap

Damien’s voice sharpened, instructing, “Lucia, lift your right hand.”

Her hand rose immediately, fingers trembling, palm open.

“Hold it there.”

She held it, staring at the spiral, expression blank.

“Adrian,” Damien said. “Tell her to lower it.”

Adrian hesitated. His mouth opened. “Lucia… put your hand down.”

Her arm dropped instantly. She didn’t glance at him, didn’t blink.

Damien tilted the spiral again, his gaze never leaving them.

“You see. It is not about effort. It is about allowing. Allowing my voice to pass through you. Allowing the sign to draw you. Allowing obedience to replace thought.”

He shifted slightly closer. Adrian could smell faint cologne, sharp and metallic.

“Adrian,” Damien said softly. “Stand.”

Adrian’s knees unlocked before he could resist. He stood, swaying slightly. “Turn once. Slowly.”

Adrian turned in a sluggish circle, his limbs heavy. He came to face Damien again, blinking rapidly

“Sit.”

Adrian collapsed back into the chair, pulse racing, though his face remained calm.

Lucia’s eyes glimmered in the spiral’s light, wide and glassy.

“You are learning,” Damien said. “This is how belonging begins. The sign appears, and you release. The voice speaks, and you obey. Simple. Safe. Free.”

He let the words stretch.

“Again. Lucia, stand.”

Lucia rose smoothly, her movements fluid, dreamlike.

“Step forward.”

She stepped.

“Stop.”

She froze mid-stride.

Adrian’s breath caught. “She—she’s not even—”

Damien silenced him with a glance. “Adrian, tell her to turn back.”

Adrian whispered, “Lucia, turn back.”

Lucia pivoted neatly, retracing her step, and resumed her position beside him. Her face was blank, but a faint smile lingered, as though she were pleased.

Damien lowered the card. The spiral disappeared, but its echo seemed to burn in Adrian’s mind.

“When you see the sign,” Damien said, “you drift. When you hear the voice, you obey. This is the beginning. Soon, it will be automatic. Natural. Desired.”

He pocketed the card. The absence of the spiral made Adrian’s vision feel strangely hollow, as though something essential had been taken away.

“You do not need to force yourselves to remember,” Damien said. “Forgetting is easier. Forgetting is what the sign teaches. Tonight you forget the moments you stood, the words you spoke, the silence between them. All that remains is the comfort of release.”

Adrian’s head sagged. His thoughts unraveled.

Lucia swayed slightly, her lips parted, eyes unfocused.

“Good,” Damien murmured. “Very good.”

Damien let silence stretch until Adrian thought the room itself was holding its breath. The lamp hummed faintly. Beyond the closed door, the party seemed impossibly far away, as if it belonged to another world.

“Listen,” Damien said at last, his voice a low thread. “You are both searching for strength. But strength is noisy. Defiant. Exhausting. Here, you learn the opposite. Weakness is not failure. Weakness is release. Weakness is freedom.”

He drew the card from his pocket again. The spiral glimmered.

Adrian’s chest tightened. He wanted to look away, but the moment the design caught the light, his eyes locked. His muscles slackened as though pulled by invisible cords.

Lucia’s breath came in a soft sigh, her gaze captured instantly.

Damien’s tone flattened into rhythm, deliberate and slow.

“The sign silences you. The sign empties you. The sign controls you.”

Each phrase thudded like a hammer. Adrian flinched at the words, but they echoed in his skull long after Damien spoke them.

“You cannot resist because resistance is noise. Noise drowns you. Silence saves you. The sign is silence,” Damien continued.

The spiral tilted again, and Adrian’s thoughts scattered. He clung to a memory of their apartment — boxes stacked neatly, Lucia laughing as she unpacked — but the image blurred, colors draining away.

“Adrian,” Damien said. “Raise your hand.”

His arm lifted before his mind caught up. Fingers splayed, trembling in the stale air.

“Hold it there.”

His muscles burned. He wanted to lower it, but the command pinned him in place.

“Lucia,” Damien said. “Tell him to lower it.”

His voice was flat, almost mechanical. “Adrian, lower your hand.”

His arm dropped instantly, relief flooding him.

Damien tilted the spiral again. “You see how easy. You see how simple. The sign speaks. The voice commands. The body obeys. And the mind follows after

Adrian’s head sagged. He wanted to protest, to say this was manipulation, but the words withered in his throat.

Damien’s attention shifted to Lucia. “Step forward.”

She obeyed without pause.

“Stop.”

She froze mid-stride, eyes glassy, body rigid as a doll.

Damien looked at Adrian. “Tell her to kneel.”

Adrian’s stomach lurched. His mouth opened. “Lucia… kneel.”

Lucia dropped smoothly to her knees, her hands folding neatly in her lap. She stared ahead, calm, blank, waiting.

A wave of horror coursed through Adrian. “What are you doing to her?”

Damien tilted the spiral, the glimmer slicing through Adrian’s panic. “Nothing she resists. Nothing you resist. Only what is natural. Only what the sign unlocks.”

He angled the card again. Adrian’s vision tunneled, his breath stilled.

“You both belong to the sign,” Damien whispered. “When you see it, there is no choice. When you see it, you drift. When you see it, you obey.”

Lucia remained kneeling, her posture perfect, unflinching.

Adrian reached for her arm, but Damien’s voice froze him.

“Adrian. Sit still.”

His body locked. Muscles clamped. He strained against them, but it was like wrestling stone.

“You obey,” Damien said. “And it feels inevitable.”

The hypnotist paced slowly, the spiral swaying with his steps. “You will forget this room. You will forget these commands. You will forget your resistance. The sign teaches forgetting.”

Adrian’s mind fuzzed. His memory of standing, of turning, of Lucia kneeling—already they felt unreal, like fragments of a fading dream.

Damien crouched in front of Lucia, holding the spiral inches from her wide eyes. “Lucia. Speak

Her lips parted. “I see the sign. I feel… nothing.”

“Good.” Damien’s tone sharpened. “Now stand.”

She rose gracefully, eyes fixed on the spiral.

“Turn to Adrian.”

She turned, her gaze distant but locked on him

“Tell him to sleep.”

Her voice was soft, empty. “Adrian, sleep.”

His head sagged instantly. Darkness surged, heavy and suffocating, pulling him down into silence.

Time fractured.

Adrian blinked awake — or thought he did. He was still in the chair. Lucia sat beside him, her expression serene. Damien stood over them, the card now tucked away.

“You see,” Damien said. “Obedience is safety. Safety is silence. Silence is the sign. The sign is obedience.”

Adrian struggled to recall what had just happened, but his thoughts skidded on emptiness. He knew something had been done. He knew he had spoken words, given commands, obeyed. But the details slipped like sand through his fingers.

Damien leaned close, his voice low. “When you return to the party, you will smile. You will speak politely. You will remember nothing of this room. But the sign will remain. When you see it again, you will drift without hesitation. You will obey without question. You will forget without effort.”

Lucia nodded faintly. Adrian felt his own head mirror the motion.

Damien’s eyes glimmered with something unreadable. “You belong to the sign now. You just don’t know it yet.”

He stepped back, the door opening with a whisper. The music from the party floated in, faint but familiar, as though from another lifetime.

“Return,” Damien said simply.

Adrian and Lucia rose in unison, moving toward the light without thought, as if drawn by invisible threads.

They emerged into the warmth of the party. Laughter, conversation, clinking glasses. Selene glided across the room, her smile too smooth, too knowing.

“There you are,” she said. “How lovely. How refreshed you look.”

Lucia smiled at her. Adrian felt his lips curve the same way, though his chest was hollow.

Selene’s gaze flicked briefly to Damien, who remained in the shadows. Then back to them. “Enjoy yourselves. There is much more to come.”

Adrian tried to speak, to ask what had just been done to them, but the thought evaporated before it reached his tongue.

All that remained was the faint echo of the spiral.

The sign.

Waiting.

Under Damien’s quiet direction, the party shifted as though on a single hinge. Conversations tapered off mid-sentence, glasses were set down without a clink. He stood near the center of Selene’s immaculate living room, the lamplight carving sharp edges along his cheekbones. The air itself seemed to wait for him.

“We will play a game,” he said softly. The words threaded through the hush like smoke. “A simple game. One card for each couple. One blank, one marked. The one who draws the mark accepts its meaning for the evening.”

No one asked what the meaning was. The silence itself carried weight enough to make the question unnecessary.

A shallow bowl appeared from somewhere—Lucia never saw who brought it—and in it lay a small deck of ivory cards. Their edges gleamed faintly, as though burnished by countless unseen hands. Damien set the bowl on the low table with care, as though the cards were fragile things, or holy.

“Step forward together,” Damien murmured, “and take your fate.”

One by one, couples approached. Some moved quickly, almost eagerly; others hesitated, feet dragging against the polished floor. Each drew two cards without looking. Each stepped back into the ring of onlookers with expressions too carefully neutral.

Lucia’s pulse thudded in her wrists. She and Adrian were near the end. She felt the eyes of the others sliding across her skin as they waited. When Damien’s gaze finally touched them, it was like being chosen by something vast and indifferent.

Adrian’s fingers closed over the first card. Lucia’s followed on the second. They lifted them together.

Adrian’s bore the spiral.

Lucia’s was blank.

She saw the breath leave him. It wasn’t fear exactly—more the deep, disoriented exhale of someone hearing an unexpected verdict. Damien only nodded slightly, as if this were always how it would be.

“The sign has chosen,” he said.

No one applauded. No one spoke. The other couples simply regarded Adrian with that same polished stillness, as though watching a candle gutter in wind.

Damien gathered the remaining cards, sliding them back into the bowl. His hands were pale, precise. “When the sign chooses you,” he said, “you accept. Resistance is noise. Obedience is quiet. Tonight, you will learn the quiet.”

The word lodged itself in Adrian’s chest like a weight.

Selene drifted through the room with a tray of drinks, smiling faintly, eyes gleaming like a cat’s. No one touched the glasses. The game had tilted the air toward something heavier than celebration.

Damien’s gaze moved slowly across the couples, pausing just long enough on each to feel like pressure. “The evening is yours,” he said at last. “Leave when you wish. Sleep when you can. The sign will find you again.”

People began to move—not hurriedly, but with the solemn order of a congregation filing from a chapel. Coats were claimed. Doors whispered shut. Adrian felt Lucia’s hand slip into his, cold and trembling.

They were nearly at the threshold when Damien’s voice stopped them.

“Lucia. Stay a moment.”

She froze. Turned.

“Adrian, you may wait in the hall”

Something in the phrasing unstrung his thoughts. He wanted to object—why only her?—but the words tangled before they reached his mouth. He stepped out into the corridor as though pushed by a dream.

The door shut between them.

The music from the party had stilled. The room behind it felt emptied of everyone but Damien and Lucia. He regarded her with the stillness of deep water. Then, from his pocket, the spiral appeared.

Gold lines caught the lamplight, tilting, swimming.

Lucia’s breath hitched.

“Look here,” Damien murmured.

Her eyes locked before she could nod.

The spiral shifted once, twice. Each motion tugged at her lungs, slowing them to match its rhythm. Thoughts thinned like smoke in wind.

“The sign chooses,” Damien said softly. “And you accept what it asks.”

Lucia nodded faintly. Or perhaps her head only fell forward. It was hard to tell. The spiral gleamed. Turned. Waited.

“You will listen,” he said. “You will remember only what I permit.”

Light pooled along the card’s edges. Her gaze tunneled inward until the room itself seemed to pulse with it.

“Adrian returns home with you,” Damien murmured. “He will not recall what you recall. You will guide him as instructed. You will do exactly as you are told.”

The words slid into her like stones dropped into a deep well. The ripples sank out of sight.

The spiral turned again, slower now, as though each rotation fastened something in place.

“When you wake tomorrow,” Damien said, “you will remember only that the sign chose him. That tonight you acted as the sign required. You will not question what was done. You will not allow him to question. The sign leaves no questions.”

Her face was slack, serene, the spiral burning in her wide pupils.

Damien’s voice thinned to a whisper. “Repeat: I will do as instructed.”

Lucia’s lips parted. “I will do as instructed.”

“Again.”

“I will do as instructed.”

The spiral tilted once more, then stilled. The gold lines no longer seemed to move, though perhaps they never had.

“Good,” Damien murmured. “You will wake when you leave this room. You will forget the sound of my voice. You will forget the spiral until you see it again. Then you will remember everything you need to obey.”

Lucia stood motionless, eyes reflecting the card’s last glimmer.

Damien slipped it back into his pocket. “Leave now. Smile when you see him. Tell him nothing.”

She nodded once.

The door opened.

Adrian waited by the elevator, arms folded against the strange chill threading the hallway. When Lucia emerged, her expression was soft, untroubled, as though nothing had passed in the room behind her.

“What was that about?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said, smiling. “Just… instructions for the game.”

Her hand found his. Warm now. Steady.

They rode the elevator down in silence. The mirrored walls held too many reflections. Adrian watched them multiply: himself, Lucia, himself again, each face carrying a slightly different unease.

He tried to ask what the game was and what the instructions were. The words thinned to nothing before they reached his tongue.

Lucia unlocked their door. The apartment lay dark, waiting. She turned to him in the dimness, her face unreadable. “We should begin,” she said softly.

“Begin what?”

Her smile was small. The door shut behind them.

“Adrian, sleep,” Lucia said, taking out the card, and showing it to Adrian, who immediately went slack in the face.

Lucia’s own face slackened, emotionless as she continued.

“Remove clothes,” Lucia instructed, as she herself did the same.

The couple looked like they were moving in slow, steady rhythm, removing articles of clothing at the same time, a dance of sorts.

When both were naked, Lucia continued.

“Turn around,” Lucia ordered.

Adrian did a slow, hypnotized pirouette.

“Kneel,” Lucia ordered, watching as Adrian sank to his knees.

Lucia sat on the edge of the bed.

“The game is ours,” she instructed. “The sign is ours alone. Repeat.”

“The game is ours,” Adrian repeated slowly, face emotionless, eyes glassy. “The sign is ours alone.”

“Obedience is safety. Safety is silence. Silence is the sign. The sign is obedience,” Lucia said to Adrian. “Repeat.”

“Obedience is safety. Safety is silence. Silence is the sign. The sign is obedience,” Adrian parroted.

“The game is ours. The game is the sign. The game is obedience,” Lucia said. Adrian nodded.

“You obey,” Lucia said, flashing the sign before the kneeling Adrian.

“I obey,” Adrian answered.

“Crawl to me,” Lucia said.

Adrian crawled to the edge of the bed where Lucia sat.

“Kneel,” Lucia instructed.

Adrian knelt between the legs of Lucia.

“Lick,” Lucia instructed, spreading her legs. “Enjoy.”

Adrian began licking.

The game was on, and the sign had chosen.