Six months had passed.
The world had moved on.
But Elián hadn't.
Not really.
He lived in a new apartment now — high above the city, with floor-to-ceiling windows and a piano that hadn't been touched in weeks.
The documentary had won awards.
The stalker had vanished.
Cassian had moved in.
Quietly. Without ceremony.
They didn't call it love.
But it felt like something close.
Elián had become a mentor.
Not by choice — by gravity.
The industry sent him a boy named Luca.
Seventeen. Brilliant. Fragile.
A voice like velvet and eyes that never settled.
"You remind me of me," Elián said.
Luca smiled. "I hope not too much."
Cassian was filming again.
Privately.
No premieres. No press.
Just stories.
He never filmed Elián.
Not anymore.
Vivienne had moved on.
Or so she said.
Her new project was a glossy, high-concept series called The Next Voice.
Elián didn't watch it.
But Luca did.
And one night, he showed Elián a clip.
A masked figure.
Standing in a spotlight.
Speaking in riddles.
"The spotlight doesn't heal. It hides."
Elián froze.
Cassian stepped into the room.
Saw the screen.
And whispered, "It's starting again."