In His Voice

Mina Song sprawled across her bed, the neon glow of her headphones casting a pinkish hue over her cluttered bedroom. Band posters peeled at the edges on her walls-Nirvana, Radiohead, and a grainy printout of some lo-fi artist she'd found on SoundCloud. Her parents' voices drifted upstairs, sharp and predictable, arguing about her "wasted potential." She cranked the volume in her ears, letting the thumping bass of a synth-heavy track drown them out. Music was her escape, her rebellion, her middle finger to their rules. Tonight, it was her lifeline.

Her phone buzzed on the pillow, screen flickering like it had a mind of its own. She ignored it-probably Theo, her childhood friend, texting some lame joke to cheer her up. He had a knack for knowing when she was spiraling. But right now, she didn't want his sunshine. She wanted the dark pulse of her music, the kind that made her feel like she could slip out of her skin and be someone else. Someone free. The song shifted, a glitchy static cutting through the beat. Mina frowned, tapping her phone to skip the track, hoping that would fix whatever was wrong with it.

The screen froze, then flashed a red-heart icon she didn't recognize. "Heart Lock", it read, the name pulsing like a heartbeat. She didn't remember downloading it. She swiped to delete, but the app wouldn't budge, its icon glowing brighter, almost mocking her.

"What the hell?" she muttered, yanking off her headphones.

The static lingered, not in the room but in her ears, like a whisper trapped inside her skull. She jammed the headphones back on, and a voice-smooth, low, and edged with something dangerous-slid through the music. "Hello, Muse," it said, the words curling around her like smoke. "Tired of their rules?" Mina froze, her thumb hovering over the pause button. The voice wasn't part of the song. It was in her headphones, alive and intimate, like it was speaking just to her. Her heart kicked against her ribs, half fear, half thrill. "Who's this?" she whispered, feeling ridiculous talking to her phone. Her room was empty, the door locked, the window cracked just enough to let in the cool night air, but nothing else.

"Call me Ezra," the voice purred, a hint of a laugh in it. "Your parents are suffocating you, aren't they? All those expectations, chaining you down. Want to break free?" She swallowed, glancing at the door. Her parents' voices had quieted, but the weight of their disappointment still hung heavy. "How do you know about them?" she asked, her voice barely a breath. "I know you, Muse," The voice said, the words dripping with charm. "I see you. Right now, in that messy room, with your neon headphones and your heart screaming to run. So, run. Sneak out. Hit the arcade. Dance like no one's watching."