My fingers bleed on the frets, but the crowd doesn’t see it—they only see fire, sweat, and perfection. The bassline pulses like a heartbeat from Hell, and I know, deep in what’s left of my chest, that tonight’s encore will claim three more souls.\n\nI don’t look at their faces anymore. But tonight, she’s there. Front row. Lena. Hair like midnight, eyes like dawn, wearing the same leather jacket I gave her twenty years ago. She shouldn’t exist. I watched her die.\n\nThe final chord rings out, and the air shimmers as the first fan collapses, soul ripped clean. Screams turn to cheers. I lock eyes with her. She mouths two words: Remember us.\n\nBackstage, my hands shake. The contract burns in my pocket, pages rewriting themselves. A new clause: One soul spared requires ten offered. My phone buzzes—Rex Vex: 'He knows you hesitated.'