Page 137 of One Last Encore

Still in her Swan Lake costume, white as snow, glowing beneath the flickering hallway lights like something pulled from a dream too fragile to survive the real world. The leotard clung to her frame, and the tulle of her skirt fanned around her like mist curling through moonlight.

But as she moved closer, his eyes caught a vivid flash of red across her chest. It was blood. The stain had cracked like old paint on shattered porcelain. A bandage clung to her temple, but it couldn’t mask the bruise swelling beneath her eye, or the thin line of dried blood trailing from her scalp, disappearing into the golden strands that had slipped free from her bun, her halo undone and falling apart.

She was hurt.

His stomach pitched, sudden and violent, like the floor had dropped out from under him. The kind of sick that grabs you bythe spine and holds. Was she okay? Panic surged in his chest, sharp and wild. His hands curled into fists before he realized it. Every worst-case scenario flashed behind his eyes, cruel and vivid.

But then she looked at him. And God, her eyes. Not anger. Not heartbreak. Not even fear. Just… nothing. They were empty. Vast. She stared at him like she didn’t recognize him. Like he was a ghost. Something that used to matter and didn’t anymore.

For a moment, she didn’t look human at all. She looked like grief made flesh. Like a dream bleeding into a nightmare.

And that was what broke him. He knew. He didn’t need her to speak. Didn’t need to hear the words. He felt it in his marrow, in the way the world tilted on its axis and never righted itself again. This time wasn’t like the others. This wasn’t a misstep or a misunderstanding. This was the end.

She had given him every chance. And he had squandered them. Burned through them like they would never run out. But this wasn’t a bruise they could heal from. This was a break. A shatter.

And then she turned away. The door closed. The click of the door was final. Quiet. But it hit him like a thunderclap. Beck stared at the wood, willing it to open.

Minutes bled into hours. He stayed there in the hallway, shifting between pacing and sitting, muttering apologies he’d never get to say. His head pounded with every heartbeat. His throat was raw, choked with everything he hadn’t said. The air felt thinner with each breath, like the hallway itself was shrinking, squeezing him in the fist of his own failure.

A door creaked open. Beck shot upright, his heart slamming into his ribs. But it wasn’t Ingrid. It was Eden.

She stepped out slowly, her arms crossed, wearing a look that could have been carved from stone. Her gaze landed on himand held. Not furious. Not cold. Just… tired. Like whatever had passed between them had taken something out of her, too.

"Can I talk to her?" Beck croaked. His voice scraped past the ache in his throat, barely a whisper.

Eden didn’t answer right away. She just looked at him, somewhere between anger and pity. Disappointment. Maybe even heartbreak for something that wasn’t hers to mourn.

"I liked you, Beck," she said finally, voice low and even. "I really did. But you messed it all up."

She shook her head.

"I don’t think she’ll ever forgive you for this."

The words sliced through him, each one carving deeper than the last. He didn’t argue. There was nothing to say that would make it untrue. But Ingrid had to know. It wasn’t because he didn’t care. He hadn’t been there because he was weak. Afraid. Broken.

"I know," Beck said, voice thick. "I just want to explain."

Eden sighed and the edge in her voice softened.

"She left five minutes ago," she said. "You slept through it. She’s on her way to the airport. Paris."

Paris? His mind raced, clawing at timelines, at flights, she wasn’t supposed to leave for another week. Which meant that she wasn’t performing in the final shows.

His stomach turned over, ice-cold and twisting. The bandage on her head. The blood on her costume. The bruise blooming beneath her eye. The way she’d looked at him, empty, hollow, like she didn’t even know him. Something had happened. Something awful. And he hadn’t been there.

"Subway?" he asked, voice cracking on the single word. It came out hoarse, frantic.

Eden hesitated. Her expression flickered, softening with something that might have been sympathy. Maybe pity. Maybe she just didn’t want to be the one to shut the door completely.

Finally, she gave a small nod.

That was all it took. Beck was gone before she finished blinking. Heart pounding a frantic rhythm that said one thing over and over again–

Find her. Find her. Find her.

The city blurred. Cold air tore at his face, burned in his lungs, but he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was reaching her.

His legs ached, but he pushed harder, faster. He cut through crowds, dodged taxis, nearly clipped a biker. None of it mattered. His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out everything but the singular, desperate thought screaming through his head.Don’t let her leave.

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