Chapter 91: Stop Singing Like You’re Leaving

By Sunday morning, Liam had three ideas for his new technique and enough sense not to try any of them in the apartment. Clara found him sitting at the kitchen table with a notebook, drawing arrows around a rough figure that looked more like an injured insect than a person. She leaned over his shoulder, examined it for several seconds, then pointed to the longest arrow.

“Is that you falling?”

“That’s me moving.”

“Into the floor?”

He covered the drawing with his hand. Clara laughed and took the chair beside him, pulling her breakfast closer while he explained what he wanted to do. The cape could move him without requiring the same push from his legs. His footwork could keep his body properly positioned when he landed. If he timed both correctly, he could change direction after an opponent had already committed to following him.

The screwdriver was supposed to make choosing the wrong direction more expensive.

Clara listened until he finished.

“So you want to do three things while someone tries to hit you.”

“Eventually.”

“You get a headache doing two things when nobody’s hitting you.”

“That’s why we’re practicing.”

She took another bite, then held out her hand for the notebook.

“Show me where I’m supposed to stand.”

They booked the warehouse for an hour that afternoon. Liam moved the mats into place while Clara tied back her hair and watched the screwdriver change into a short, blunt bar. He explained that it would remain away from her face and neck, then showed her the route he wanted it to follow. She walked through the space once, checked the distance, and nodded.

The first attempt ended with Liam moving sideways before his upper body was ready.

His feet left the mat, his shoulder turned too far, and Clara caught the back of his shirt before he could hit the floor.

For a moment, he hung there.

Neither spoke.

Then Clara started laughing.

“Put me down.”

“I’m helping.”

“You can help lower down.”

She released him once his feet were beneath him. Liam straightened his shirt and looked toward the screwdriver, which had stopped halfway through its movement. Through their connection came a feeling of uncertainty that made him suspect even the tool wanted a better explanation.

‘Fine. Apparently, everyone has criticism today.’

He put it aside.

They spent the next twenty minutes using only the cape. Liam began with small changes of direction, barely lifting himself enough to reduce the weight on one foot. The new footwork skill made it easy to recognize where he needed to land. Getting the cape to stop moving him at that exact moment required considerably more care.

Clara approached slowly at first, reaching for his shoulder. He moved away, landed, and reset. Then she stopped giving him the same approach every time.

That was when the exercise became useful.

Twice, he moved too early and she simply followed. Once, he waited too long and found himself caught around the waist before he had finished deciding which direction to take. On the next attempt, he let her reach, shifted just beyond her hand, and landed beside her instead of retreating.

His palm touched her upper arm.

Clara turned immediately, but he was already stepping away.

They both stopped.

“That one,” she said.

Liam nodded, breathing harder than he expected.

“Again.”

The screwdriver came back into the exercise only after he repeated the movement several times. He gave it one short path to follow instead of trying to direct every inch. It moved across the space he had just left, presenting Clara with a blunt obstacle while he stepped around her other side.

She caught his wrist anyway.

But she had turned toward the bar first.

Liam looked down at her hand, then smiled.

“You looked.”

“You still lost.”

“I know.”

He stopped before the pressure behind his eyes became painful. There was no completion message waiting for him, which was fair enough. He had developed half a movement and made his girlfriend glance in the wrong direction. That wasn’t a combat victory.

Still, he had something worth practicing.

Clara handed him his water and took the notebook from his bag.

“What are you calling it?”

“I haven’t decided.”

She wrote something beneath the drawing.

Liam leaned closer.

Almost Worked.

He looked at her.

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Yes.”

Megan called while they were driving back.

Clara answered on speaker, expecting a question about practice, but Megan asked whether Liam would be free the following evening. She had been working on a song and wanted him to listen before she sent a recording to anyone.

“Who’s anyone?” Liam asked.

“A girl who organizes live music. She heard our performance.”

“What does she want?”

“A recording first. Then maybe a short set on Friday.”

Clara turned toward him immediately. Liam kept his eyes on the road while Megan explained that the evening would involve several performers, not an entire show built around them. There would be a small audience, and the organizer wanted to know whether Megan had enough original material.

“Do you?”

“One song I like. Half of another. Several that should probably stay on my phone.”

“That’s more than nothing.”

“Will you come?”

“Send me the time.”

Megan thanked him and ended the call before he could ask anything else. Clara watched him put the phone down, then settled back in her seat with a pleased expression.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That never means nothing.”

“She asked you about a song.”

Liam glanced at her at the next light.

“And?”

Clara looked through the windshield.

“It’s nice.”

He understood a moment later. There had been too many conversations with Megan that began with somebody watching her, threatening her, or deciding what her life should become. This one had begun with music she wanted someone to hear.

He hoped Friday worked out.

Megan was already inside the practice room when Liam arrived on Monday. Her bag lay beneath a chair, sheets of paper covered the piano, and her phone was balanced against a water bottle with the recording screen open. She looked up when he knocked, then immediately gathered the loose pages into an order that apparently made sense only to her.

“Ignore the crossed-out parts.”

“That leaves four lines.”

“Those are good lines.”

He sat while she played the recording she had made earlier. The sound was rough, with a chair scraping halfway through and someone laughing in the corridor near the end. Liam listened without touching the papers. Beneath the noise, there was a melody worth keeping and a chorus Megan didn’t seem to trust enough to sing at full volume.

When it ended, she reached for the phone.

“I know the second part needs—”

“Play it again.”

She looked at him, then restarted it.

This time, he followed the words.

The song was about leaving a place that had once felt safe, though the first verse made the person leaving sound guilty before anything had happened. By the chorus, she was practically apologizing for wanting to go.

Liam waited until the recording stopped.

“Why is she sorry?”

Megan looked down at the page.

“I don’t know.”

“You wrote it.”

“I know that.”

He smiled slightly and moved the sheet toward her.

“Is she leaving because she wants to hurt somebody?”

“No.”

“Then let her leave without spending the whole chorus asking permission.”

Megan read the lines again. Her finger stopped beside one she had underlined twice, and she remained quiet long enough that Liam wondered whether he had pushed too far. Then she picked up the pencil and crossed it out.

“That was the line I liked.”

“You can like a line and still put it in the wrong song.”

She gave him an annoyed look.

“That sounds like something you say when you’re enjoying being right.”

“I usually enjoy it.”

They worked quickly after that. Liam helped her simplify the melody around the words she wanted to keep, then changed the accompaniment when she decided the chorus should rise instead of fading away. Divine Composition supplied possibilities almost as soon as he considered them. He made himself listen to her choices before putting any of them on the page.

When he suggested rewriting the opening, Megan shook her head.

“That stays.”

He looked at it again.

“All right.”

“You’re not going to argue?”

“It’s your song.”

Her pencil stopped moving.

Then she pulled the page closer and continued.

The first complete recording lasted just over three minutes.

Liam played while Megan sang, keeping his part quieter than he normally would so she didn’t have to fight him for the center of the song. She missed one entrance, laughed, and asked to begin again. On the second attempt, she reached the chorus without lowering her voice.

It sounded better immediately.

When the last note faded, neither reached for the phone.

Megan looked toward him.

“Well?”

“That’s the one.”

She came around to listen, standing close enough that her sleeve brushed his arm. They watched the timer move across the screen while the recording played back. Liam heard one place where he could have supported her more cleanly, but Megan was smiling before they reached it.

Then she looked at him sharply.

“What?”

“Your harmony.”

“Something wrong?”

“You sound sad.”

“It’s a sad part.”

“Not that sad.”

She replayed the section. Liam heard his own voice beneath hers, carrying a weight he hadn’t consciously intended to put there. The words concerned an open door, but he had sung them as though somebody on the other side had already died.

Megan lowered the phone.

“Stop singing like you’re leaving.”

He looked at her.

“I’m sitting right here.”

“Then sound like it.”

For a moment, Liam had no answer. He could produce the right note without thinking, control his breath, change the color of his voice, and make a room pay attention. None of that stopped memories from entering a song when he wasn’t watching for them.

Megan nudged the chair with her knee.

“One more.”

He moved back into position.

This time, when she reached the chorus, he followed her instead of the life he remembered.

The reply arrived while they were packing up.

Megan read it once, then held the phone out to him with a smile she was clearly trying to contain. The organizer liked the recording. She could give them a short opening set on Friday, provided they confirmed by the following afternoon.

There was a small payment.

Megan pointed at that part first.

“We’re getting paid.”

“You sound surprised.”

“People can like a video for free. This is different.”

Liam handed the phone back.

“Then say yes.”

“You’re free?”

“I’ll make sure I am.”

She began typing, stopped, and looked up again.

“She wants names for the announcement.”

“Put yours first.”

“Liam.”

“It’s your song.”

“And you’re performing with me.”

He considered arguing, then remembered how readily she had told him to leave the opening verse alone. Megan didn’t seem interested in having every decision made on her behalf, even when the decision sounded generous.

“Both, then.”

She nodded and finished the reply.

A green panel appeared beside the phone.

[Updated.]

[New Side Mission: Complete a paid live performance with Megan using an original song.] [Skip for $2.]

Liam read it while Megan checked the details one last time.

For once, the mission had arrived after he had already decided what he wanted to do.

She slipped the phone into her bag and picked up the pages.

“We need another rehearsal.”

“Tomorrow?”

“After your classes.”

“I have training later.”

“Then don’t let Lin break your fingers.”

Liam laughed and opened the door for her.

“I’ll mention it.”

Outside, Megan was still looking at the confirmation. He had seen her check messages with fear, frustration, and the exhausted expression of someone expecting another problem.

This time, she turned the screen toward him again.

“Our names.”

Liam looked.

For Friday evening, that was all they needed to be, Megan kept smiling beside him.