Growing up, "trust" was a luxury he couldn't afford. He learned young that promises were just placeholders for eventual letdowns. But then came Marcus. Marcus was the brother he chose, the one who shared the struggle, the one who swore they’d make it out of the basement together.
The piano starts low and heavy, like rain hitting a window in an empty house. Growing up, "trust" was a luxury he couldn't afford
He lights a match and watches the corner of the letter curl into black ash. The piano fades out, leaving nothing but the sound of his own breathing in the silence. He finally understands: you can’t build a future on someone else’s word, only on your own strength. AI responses may include mistakes. Learn more Marcus was the brother he chose, the one
But as the melody spirals into a melancholic loop, the memory shifts. He remembers the cold realization in the back of the studio—the missing hard drives, the signed contracts with his name forged in Marcus's handwriting, the empty seat where his best friend used to sit. The piano fades out, leaving nothing but the
Elias starts to write. Every bar is a brick he’s stacking back up around his heart. The deep bass vibrates through his floorboards, grounding him as he realizes that the hardest part of betrayal isn't the act itself—it's the ghost of the person you thought you knew.
Elias sits on the edge of a mattress that hasn’t been made in weeks. He’s staring at a folded piece of paper—a letter from the one person he thought would never leave. The beat kicks in with a hollow, echoing snap, mirroring the rhythmic thud in his chest.