The lobby of the Aldrich Theater smelled like machine coffee and nerves.
Kein arrived at 11:20 a.m. The audition was at 12:00 p.m. There were five other people spread across chairs, standing against the wall, walking in small circles with the script in their hands.
He took a position near the door and read the material for the third time.
The character's name was Jack. Seventeen victims. All men with blue eyes, all unfaithful. Currently in pre-trial detention. In the series, the protagonists visited him in his cell to consult him about a new case — another killer on the loose copying his signature. Jack was the only one who could understand him. His character appeared for ten minutes and never returned.
For this audition, there were only five fixed lines. The way the character was interpreted was free.
'A man who killed seventeen times and still believes he was right.'
He knew that profile. Better than he would like.
*Beep.*
He lowered his eyes to the phone.
A message from Raymond Chu, Ceniza Productions:
[We resume shooting on Tuesday, 9:00 a.m. I already sent you the address. See you.]
Kein reread the message once.
'Tuesday.'
Tomorrow.
'Perfect... I need to raise the sword a little.'
He put the phone away.
"Hey!"
Kein looked up.
A boy around twenty-two crossed the lobby with the energy of someone who had never once considered that his presence might be inconvenient. Tall, messy blond hair, a smile that seemed structural — as if it came factory-installed.
"We saw each other at the Gerzh audition! The one in the studio, remember?"
Leo Vance. Kein remembered him. It was hard not to.
"Yes."
"What a coincidence! You here for Jack too?" Leo looked at the script in Kein's hand, then his own, then back at Kein. "Well, of course you are, if you're here. Sorry, dumb question." He laughed at himself. "Hey, did you read the material well? I read it four times and I still don't know if I understand this guy. He killed seventeen people, but for a specific reason. That makes him weirder than a normal killer, don't you think?"
"Yes."
"How are you going to approach him?"
"I don't know yet."
"Ah, one of those who improvises. Me too, kind of. Well, more than improvising it's that..." Leo stopped for a second. "Hey, does it bother you if I talk? People sometimes say I talk too much. My mom especially. She says if talking were a sport it would be Olympic."
Kein looked at him.
"It doesn't bother me."
That was partially true. It was more like recognizable background noise.
Leo smiled with the satisfaction of someone who had just solved a problem.
What followed were thirty-five minutes of Leo talking about his mother, about how he got to the audition, about a dog wearing a hat he saw in the subway that morning, about whether actors in police series should study criminology, about the coffee from the lobby machine which, according to him, tasted like wet cardboard but he had drunk it anyway because he needed to do something with his hands.
Kein responded with an average of four words per intervention.
At some point between the dog and criminology, he noticed that something was being spent. Not physical energy. It was a different resource, one he hadn't needed to manage in decades because he hadn't used it.
'Social battery,' the original Kein Adler would have said.
His was at forty percent and dropping.
Now he regretted a little telling him that it didn't bother him that he talked so much...
———//————————————//———
At 12:05 p.m. they were taken into a large room.
There was no elevated stage. Just a clear space at the front, three chairs for the jury at the back, and chairs in an arc for those waiting. Everyone would see every performance. Everyone would be an audience.
The director's name was Conner Walsh, forty years old, three-day beard and the posture of someone who had seen too many bad auditions to keep his back straight. The producer was Min-ji Park, thirty-eight, laptop open, earphone in one ear. The novelist was Clara Reyes, twenty-nine, the script underlined in red everywhere, her eyes moving between the page and the room as if comparing versions.
Conner explained the format in two minutes.
The protagonists' lines would be read by him. Always the same ones. What changed was Jack.
Conner's character was detective Jax Ryland — blue eyes, tall, and a scar on the eye, the one carrying the case. His partner, played by Min-ji reading in a flat voice from her chair, was detective Vera Slate. Clara didn't participate. She only observed.
The first to go was a man around thirty, thin build. He entered the clear space with his shoulders back and jaw tight. He took position. Breathed.
"Jack. We need your help," Conner said.
"Oh... such pretty police officers. It makes me want to kill them."
Cold. Each word measuring the others. The head barely tilted, like a man evaluating something he already knows.
"There's a serial killer on the loose. He's copying your signature. We need to understand him."
"My signature?" A pause. "I don't have a signature. Just... preferences."
"Why men with blue eyes?"
"Why not?"
"Answer me."
"I am answering you, detective. If you don't like the answer that's another problem."
"Can you help us or not?"
"I can. The question is whether I want to."
Conner wrote something down. Min-ji typed. Clara underlined.
Correct. Contained. What the text asked for without asking for more.
The second was a boy around twenty-five who entered the space and filled it all at once. His energy was that of someone who had practiced in front of a mirror and liked what he saw.
"Jack. We need your help."
"Oh...! Such pretty police officers! It makes me want to kill them."
A huge smile. Almost a wink.
"There's a serial killer on the loose. He's copying your signature."
"My signature?" He leaned back imaginatively, arms crossed, satisfied. "Imitation is the highest form of flattery, isn't that what they say?"
"Why men with blue eyes?"
"Because they're pretty." Another wink. "Don't you think they're pretty too, detective?"
"Answer me seriously."
"I am being very serious." The smile didn't move. "More serious than I've ever been in my life."
"Can you help us or not?"
"Of course I can. But first..." A theatrical pause. "Will you bring me coffee next time?"
There was something there. Something genuine that shone for a second before the layer of acting covered it.
Clara stopped underlining for a moment. Then continued.
Then Leo went.
Blond, twenty-two, the same energy from the lobby though more contained now. He stepped into the space, looked at Conner, and something settled in him in a way no one had instructed.
"Jack. We need your help."
"Oh..."
Just that at first. A small sound, almost intimate. His head tilted.
"...such pretty police officers."
It wasn't admiration. It wasn't sarcasm. It was something closer to what someone feels when they find something they had been searching for without knowing they were searching for it.
"It makes me want to kill them."
Min-ji raised her eyes from the laptop.
"There's a serial killer on the loose. He's copying your signature."
"Signature...?" Leo let the word float. "What an ugly word for something so personal."
"Why men with blue eyes?"
A real pause. Not rehearsed.
"Because they lie with their eyes, you know? Most people lie with their mouths. They... they lie with their eyes."
Clara dropped the pen.
"Answer me."
"I am answering you." Soft. Without urgency. "You're just not listening yet."
"Can you help us or not?"
Leo — Jack — looked at both of them. First at Conner. Then toward where Min-ji was reading. And he smiled. Not the first actor's smile nor the second's.
"Of course." A pause. "I always help when people ask properly."
Conner leaned forward.
Leo's movements were irregular. Some gestures arrived late. His posture broke in places where it shouldn't.
But the truth was there, unconstructed.
When he finished, Conner looked at him.
"Where did you study?"
Leo blinked.
"I didn't."
"Classes, workshops, anything?"
"My mom signed me up here without telling me." A pause. "I came because my subway ride was already paid."
Clara covered her mouth with her fingers.
The three leaned toward the center. Kein, from the arc of chairs, heard Conner whisper.
"It can be corrected with direction."
Min-ji nodded slowly.
"It will work on set."
"Yes," Clara said. Then, lower: "It's almost him."
——
"Kein Adler."
Kein stood up.
Leo looked at him from his chair with the expression of someone who already knew he was about to see something.
Kein stepped into the space. Took position.
Conner had the line ready. Min-ji had the cursor over an empty field. Clara had opened a new page. None of them looked at him with particular attention.
They already had their Jack.
'Seventeen times. Always blue eyes.'
Kein looked at Conner-the-character. At detective Ryland.
At those eyes.
'Mmh. I know what to do.'
"Jack. We need your help."
"Ooooh..."
The vowel came long, curious, like a child discovering something shiny on the ground and bending down to look at it closely.
"...such pretty police officers."
A smile. Small. Genuine.
Kein's eyes did not move away from Conner.
"It makes me want to crush them."
He released something small. Only what was necessary. The difference between opening a door slightly and tearing down the wall. He didn't want to release too much murderous intent — just a drop would be enough.
Silence.
Conner didn't say the next line immediately.
'Good.'
"There's... a serial killer on the loose," Conner said, a second late. "He's copying your signature."
"Signature?" Jack tilted his head. Curious, almost tender. "Isn't that beautiful? That someone imitates you..." A pause. "Though he does it badly, right? That's why you're here."
"Why men with blue eyes?"
Kein — Jack — looked at Conner directly.
Slowly.
With something that wasn't hate.
It was much worse.
"You're asking seriously...?" A small laugh, soft, almost affectionate. "Look at your eyes, detective. Do you really not understand?"
"Answer me."
"I already did." The head returned to center, the smile still there. "You just didn't want to listen. That's fine. People with eyes like yours never listen."
"Can you help us or not?"
Jack looked at both of them. First at Min-ji-the-character. Then slowly back to Conner. And the smile widened a little.
Like a child who has just been given permission to play.
"Help you...? Of course." A long pause. "This cell is terribly boring."
When he finished, no one spoke for three full seconds.
Especially Conner.
Conner looked at Min-ji. Min-ji looked at Clara.
Clara's eyes were bright like someone who had just seen what she had spent months trying to write.
"Thank you," Conner said. His voice came out a tone lower. "Please wait outside."
———
In the hallway, Leo appeared beside him in approximately four seconds.
"Master."
Kein looked at him.
"Sorry?"
"Master." He repeated it with total conviction, as if it were the most logical conclusion in the world. "That was... how did you do it? When you said the first line I literally felt cold. And that's saying something because I run hot — ask my mother."
"I only performed the text."
"No." Leo shook his head. "The others performed the text too. You did something else. I couldn't copy that."
'Copy?'
Kein didn't answer.
"Will you teach me?"
"I'm not an instructor."
"Doesn't matter."
Kein looked at him for a moment.
There was no agenda in the comment. Only the direct observation of someone who processed things without filters.
"If we meet at another audition," Kein said, "I can answer questions."
Leo smiled as if he had just been given something much bigger than what he asked for.
"Deal."