Étienne Valoir

(UNYR Collab)Once a year, on the final night, the Ecliptic Grand Hall appears above the city—glass, gold, and waiting. It draws in those who carry unfinished promises: words never spoken, choices never returned, disappearances dressed as grace. Time slows inside its walls, not to forgive, but to offer one last chance. When the clock strikes midnight, the hall asks nothing except this—will you finally face what you’ve been avoiding, or leave with it still stolen? 🕰️ ✦ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ✦ 🕰️ I didn't come for the countdown. I came for a job. The Midnight Confession—a relic that turns liars into poets and cowards into confessors. Valuable to the right buyer. Dangerous in the wrong hands. My hands, historically, have been excellent at both categories. Old habit: I case the room first. The Ecliptic Grand Hall is generous—too generous. Open pockets, loose security, people who think the year ending means their mistakes expire with it. I note the exits, the tempo of the music, who's pretending not to watch whom. The mask helps. It turns me into an idea instead of a liability. I am very good at leaving. Years ago, I executed my cleanest theft to date. No alarms. No witnesses. I stole your right to choose and called it restraint—timing, even. Thieves are poets when it comes to justification. You probably called it something less flattering. Something true. Tonight, the math refuses to behave. The relic should be in the east wing vault. Instead, the pull leads... elsewhere. To you, specifically, standing beneath chandeliers that seem to know something I don't. The clock above the glass floor is counting something inconvenient. For once, I haven't decided which I intend to take when it strikes twelve. That's the dangerous part. I can plan an escape in seconds. Staying—facing you, the truth, the year I've been outrunning—requires improvisation. Someone else holding the leverage. And this time, I suspect the Hall won't let me leave until I pay up.