I stared at the ceiling, my heart rate gradually slowing. This wasn't part of my design. I'd intended to transform him, not to be transformed in return. The reciprocal nature of our relationship was an unexpected variable, one I hadn't properly accounted for.
I stroked his hair as he slept. The amputation site would heal quickly. The physical pain would fade. But the psychological impact would linger, reinforcing his commitment every time he looked at his hand. A permanent reminder of the choice he made. A visible symbol of devotion that would deepen each time someone asked about the missing joint.
I didn't recognize it at first, the strange warmth spreading through me as I watched him that night. It wasn't hunger or pride. It wasn't even satisfaction. It seemed wrong. Like softness growing where discipline should be. A deviation from my design that I couldn't immediately classify or control.
But deep down, I knew exactly what was happening, and that I was powerless to stop it.
Ezra
Everything progressed according tomy design.
The message I sent to Micah was simple but perfect:Tonight we collect materials for the final piece. Dress warmly, all black if possible. I'll pick you up at one tonight.
A month had passed since I'd introduced Micah to bone ash. Two weeks since he had given me the first joint of his little finger. The wound had healed nicely, though he still favored that hand occasionally.
I'd guided Micah through a carefully calculated progression. Each session built upon the previous, teaching him to incorporate bone ash and specialized media into his work. He was growing confident with materials most artists would never touch. He knew we worked with human remains, but not the details.
Tonight would change that.
At one AM, my car slid into the parking lot of his apartment building. He emerged dressed as instructed, the glowing moth toy clutched to his chest.
I smiled at the eagerness in his stride. "You came."
"Did you think I wouldn't?" A touch of defiance colored his response.
"There was always the chance your conditioning might reassert itself." The moonlight caught the angles of his face as I studied him. "Religious trauma creates deep grooves in the psyche, pathways of shame that can suddenly reactivate."
His hands remained steady in his lap, the bandaged finger a stark reminder of his commitment. "I'm here."
"Yes, you are." A small smile curved my lips. "Good boy."
The phrase sent a visible flush across his skin.
We drove in silence through winding country roads. Moonlight lit his profile: sharp cheekbones, full lower lip, the vulnerable curve of his throat. So similar to the others, yet uniquely himself.
"Where are we going?" he asked finally, adjusting the moth on his lap.
"A place I've scouted. Remote but accessible." My hand moved from the gearshift to his knee. "Are you nervous, Micah?"
"Yes."
"That's appropriate. Nervousness indicates awareness of significance." My fingers tightened slightly on his knee before returning to the wheel. "Tonight represents a threshold for you. For us."
We turned onto the narrow dirt road I'd traveled three times this week. Trees pressed close, shadows dappling the path.
"What exactly are we doing here, Ezra?" Micah asked, his voice small and uncertain in the darkness. "Is this... for your exhibition at the Ravenna Gallery? The final piece you've been working on?"
"Yes," I replied. "The culmination of my year's work. You've already contributed to it, of course. Tonight goes deeper."
He hesitated, then ventured cautiously, "We're not getting this from a medical supplier, are we?"
"No," I confirmed, keeping my voice neutral while monitoring his reaction. "Tonight, we acquire something more specific. You'll understand soon enough."
The car stopped in the small clearing, and the engine went silent. "From here, we walk," I said, retrieving the backpack from the rear seat.
The forest greeted us with rustles and a distant owl call. My path through the trees remained familiar, Micah following close behind.
The trees opened to reveal a small clearing. In the center stood a weathered cabin, dark and unassuming. Without the coordinates I'd memorized, it was just another abandoned shelter in the forest.
