STARLIGHT UNBOUND by Deus Ex Machina - HTML preview

STARLIGHT UNBOUND

Back inside the now-empty gallery, Lyra stood alone near the massive starburst painting. The lighting had dimmed, draping the space in elongated shadows, leaving only the bold, swirling strokes of her work illuminated. She let out a long breath, her shoulders sagging as the carefully maintained poise of the evening slipped away.

With practiced ease, she pulled an ornate tin of cigarettes from her pocket, flipping it open with a faint metallic click. The flame flared against the tip, and she inhaled deeply, letting the smoke curl through her lungs before dropping her arm to her side, the cigarette dangling loosely between her fingers.

For the first time all night, she allowed herself to be still.

She stared at the painting, eyes tracing the chaotic brushstrokes, but her thoughts wandered elsewhere.

Lucien.

The man with the steady look and unsure hands.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. A tech guy. I can tell by his clothes. House of Structure. He’s nobody.

The words felt hollow, even in her own head. He should have been like the rest—another face drifting through her government-approved world, admiring the art without truly seeing it.

But he wasn ’t.

She remembered the way he lingered, how his eyes didn’t just look but searched, as though he were peeling back the layers of the painting, looking for something beneath. And the way he hadn’t pulled back when she leaned in, her words brushing against his ear. She had meant to stir him, to push him—but in that moment, something unexpected pressed against her in return.

A strange discomfort rose in her chest, foreign and unwelcome. She wasn ’t used to that.

Lyra tapped the ash from her cigarette onto the spotless gallery floor, watching it fall in delicate flakes that disappeared into the darkness. Why him? The thought gnawed at the edges of her mind, insistent, demanding.

"He ’s another one of them," she murmured, the words brittle and unconvincing even to her own ears.

Another drag of smoke filled her lungs, but it did nothing to clear the unsettled feeling threading through her ribs. She was used to testing people, pushing them to see where they’d break. But Lucien… he hadn’t broken.

He had felt—no, seen—something in the painting that others hadn’t.

She pressed her fingers to her temple, closing her eyes. Get it together Lyra.

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