Pressure Points

I

The second day hit harder.

Ashlight wasn't just performance training. It was exposure therapy disguised as art.

The trainees were paired up and instructed to provoke raw, emotional reactions in one another. No scripts. No guidance. Just triggers.

Lina's partner?

Adrian.

Of course.

He stood across from her on the bare stage, arms crossed, eyes gleaming like he already knew where to cut.

"You hide," he said.

Lina didn't flinch.

"No more than you do."

He smiled, but there was no humor in it.

"Difference is—I know I'm pretending. You still think pain makes you special."

The words slammed into her chest harder than expected.

"Careful," she said coldly. "You don't know me."

"I know enough," Adrian replied. "You're beautiful. That buys attention. You're tragic. That buys sympathy. But that won't hold in the long run."

"And what will?"

He stepped closer, his voice a low hum. "Blood. Fire. Vulnerability so raw the audience doesn't know whether to love you or fear you."

"You sound obsessed."

"I'm obsessed with truth," he said. "And you're the most interesting lie I've seen in years."

She hated how her heart stuttered—not with attraction, but with the fear of being seen too well.

That night, in her dark room lit only by streetlight glow through sheer curtains, Lina whispered to the air.

"Why him?"

"Because he reflects the part of you still unsure if you deserve your light."

She sighed. "That doesn't help."

"It wasn't meant to."

On the third day, they introduced the emotion switch drill.

Each trainee would be mic'd and filmed for five minutes. No retakes. A producer would call out one emotion every thirty seconds—rage, grief, laughter, regret—and the subject had to embody it.

It was a nightmare for most.

For Lina, it was something else.

Because she stopped performing.

She just… remembered.

The orphanage's dark hallways. The way Mira cried when she lied. The silence that followed being expelled. The time she walked home in the rain with nothing but a cracked phone and a broken promise.

When they called out "grief," she didn't blink.

When they said "hope," she let the smallest smile bloom—fragile, but true.

When the session ended, the trainer stood in stunned silence.

Then wrote a single word on her file:

"Dangerous."

Later, Adrian caught up to her in the garden outside the dorms.

"You're scaring them."

She sat on the low stone bench, watching moonlight settle over the hedges.

"Good."

He chuckled and sat beside her.

"You're better than I thought."

"You're not bad either."

He looked at her with something unspoken in his eyes. Then, softly:

"You know… they say people like us don't fall in love. Just into obsession."

She turned to him. "And do you believe that?"

Adrian's voice dropped. "Not until I saw you cry."

The silence that followed was thick.

Not romantic.

Not hostile.

Just… unfinished.

The next morning, Lina's assistant Sora snuck onto campus with a burner phone and a voice full of chaos.

"You're trending again," she whispered. "They leaked a 12-second clip from your emotion test. You went viral on a Russian fan account and now some fancy Korean label wants your image rights. Also, Kael hasn't said a word."

Lina blinked. "Why would Kael say anything?"

Sora grinned. "Because you're glowing, babe. And I think it scares him."