THE NEW SHADOW
THE NEW SHADOW
19. BEHIND THE SCENE
The dream didn’t begin like a nightmare. It began slowly… almost beautifully. There was ice. Silence. The distant echo of skates gliding with perfect precision. Ilya could see himself alone on the rink, breathing steadily, feeling control in every movement. Everything was in place. Until it wasn’t.
The ice cracked. First one sharp sound… almost imperceptible. Then another. And another. The lines beneath his skates began splitting open, like something underneath was pushing upward, breaking through, demanding space. Ilya stopped moving.
—Shane…”
His voice came out lower than he expected. No answer. He turned. And there he was. On the other side. Shane Hollander. Standing still… but far away. Too far away. There was no ice between them anymore. Only black water. Dark. Deep. Motionless.
—Don’t move,” Ilya said firmly, trying to hold onto control he no longer had. “I’m coming.”
But the second he took a step, the ice gave out beneath him. The water swallowed him to the knees instantly. Cold. Too cold.
—Ilya…”
Shane’s voice sounded distant now. Distorted somehow.
—It’s too late.
—No.”
Ilya shook his head, breathing faster now.
—It’s not.”
He tried moving forward. But the water kept rising. His legs felt heavier. His body refused to respond the way it should have.
And then—
another voice.
Close to his ear. Too close.
—You already know, don’t you?” João whispered.
Ilya couldn’t see him… but he felt him.
—That thing that makes you perfect…” the voice continued softly, almost teasing, “…is also the thing breaking you apart.”
Ilya clenched his jaw.
—Shut up.
—You don’t need me to tell you,” João insisted. “You already know what your weakness is.”
The water reached his chest. Shane looked farther away now. Or maybe Ilya was sinking faster.
—Ilya…”
Shane’s voice trembled this time.
—I can’t wait for you anymore.
—YES YOU CAN!”
For the first time, panic exploded out of him.
—DON’T MOVE!”
But Shane didn’t step forward. Didn’t fight for him. He only stood there. Watching him. Like he had already let him go.
The water rose to Ilya’s throat. He tried moving. Tried swimming. Tried reaching him. But his body no longer obeyed him. And right before he disappeared completely beneath the surface, he woke up.
Air wouldn’t come. His chest rose violently. His skin burned hot with sweat. His heartbeat slammed against his ribs hard enough to hurt.
Ilya opened his eyes sharply. White ceiling. Still real. He blinked once. Then again. But the feeling stayed. Buried deep inside him. That emptiness in his chest. That weight in his throat. That pressure he didn’t know how to name. He turned his head slightly.
Soft darkness. Silent room. He wasn’t in Ottawa. He wasn’t with Shane. And somehow… that felt more real than anything else. He exhaled slowly. Long. But it didn’t help.
One hand dragged across his face. He shut his eyes again, trying to fall back asleep. Turned onto one side. Then the other. Pulled the blanket over himself. Threw it back off. Nothing worked.
His mind wouldn’t stop. The images stayed there. Shane. The water. The distance. And beneath all of it, like constant interference—
That thing that makes you perfect… is also the thing breaking you apart.
Ilya clenched his teeth.
—Fuck…”
He opened his eyes again and stared up at the ceiling, counting seconds, waiting for his body to calm down. It never did. He wasn’t calm. He wasn’t clear. He wasn’t… in control. Slowly, he pushed himself upright and reached for his phone. The screen lit up the room. And then he saw it. A message from Shane. His thumb hovered for one second before opening it. Like part of him already knew whatever was inside… was going to move something. He opened it. Read.
Ilya.
You are the most important thing in my life.
And I feel like I’m losing you.
I can’t imagine a life without you.
I can’t imagine waking up one day knowing you’re not beside me anymore.
Not trusting you with my life, my days, my thoughts, the way I always have.
I know what you’re thinking about me.
I know that from where you’re standing, everything looks bad. Maybe even unforgivable.
And believe me, if I were you, I’d think the same thing too.
But Ilya Rozanov, I swear to you with everything I am:
I have never cheated on you with Rose Landry.
Never.
I know this whole thing looks like a disaster right now. I know some things don’t make sense.
But I promise you there’s an explanation.
And I need you to listen to me.
I need us to talk.
Because I feel like I’m drowning.
And I need you.
Please. Let me explain.
Ilya didn’t move. Not immediately. The phone remained in his hand, the screen still glowing faintly in the dark. But his eyes… weren’t really there anymore. They stayed fixed somewhere else entirely. Lost. Processing. Feeling. Not knowing what the hell to do with any of it. He swallowed slowly.
The message had arrived without defenses. No masks. No games.
And somehow… that made everything worse. Because he felt it. Of course he did. But at the same time… the images refused to disappear. Rose. Shane. How close they’d been. The doubt. The noise in his head. He exhaled slowly, shut the screen off, and set the phone aside. Then he looked back up at the ceiling. Silence. Long. Heavy silence.
He didn’t know what to answer. Didn’t know what to believe. Didn’t know… what was real anymore. But what he did know… was that he couldn’t respond yet. Not like this. Not in this state. He closed his eyes again. Not to sleep. Just to try and understand what the hell was happening inside him. And for the first time in a very long time… Ilya Rozanov no longer had control.
A few hours later, the recording studio was alive. White lights bounced in every direction. Screens showed live footage in real time. People moved constantly—clothes, equipment, cables, instructions. Nothing stopped moving.
—Ready in three!” someone shouted from the back.
Ilya already stood in front of the set. Dark athletic wear clinging perfectly to every line of his body.
—Look directly at me,” the photographer instructed. “No smile. Give me control.”
Ilya didn’t have to think about it. He just did it.
Cold eyes. Steady gaze. Exact.
Click.
—That…” the photographer murmured quietly, “is both the problem… and the solution.”
Off to the side, João watched him with a half-smile.
—Always so dramatic,” he said.
—Always so unnecessary,” Ilya replied without looking at him.
Click.
Quick change. Hockey gear this time. Firm posture. Tight shoulders.
—I want rivalry,” the creative director said. “Like you’re about to beat the shit out of each other.”
João stepped a little closer. Invading his space intentionally.
—That part comes naturally to me,” he murmured.
Ilya turned his face slightly toward him.
—Don’t provoke me.
—What if I want to?
Click.
Click.
The tension was real. Perfect for camera.
Hours later, the pace still hadn’t slowed. No rest. No pause. Until—
—FIFTEEN MINUTE BREAK!”
The energy softened just enough. A long table sat near the back. Sandwiches. Fruit. Cold drinks. People breathing again. Laughing. Letting go of tension. João grabbed a sandwich without asking.
—If you don’t eat, you’re gonna collapse during the next shoot,” he said, handing one to Ilya.
Ilya took it without arguing.
—Thanks.”
Brief silence.
The first one they’d had in hours. And then Ilya’s phone vibrated against the table. The screen lit up instantly. The name visible. Jane. João saw it first. He didn’t say anything. He only looked at it. One second. Two. Ilya was distracted drinking water, glancing toward the production crew. He hadn’t seen it yet.
The phone vibrated again. More insistent this time. João picked it up casually. Naturally. Like it was the most normal thing in the world. He looked at the screen. And with cold calmness… slid his finger across it.
Decline call.
Black screen.
He placed the phone back exactly where it had been. Like nothing happened.
On the other side of the continent, Shane slowly lowered his phone and stared at it. Processing. Again. No answer. No returned call. Nothing. He swallowed hard.
—…okay,” he murmured quietly to himself.
Chest tight. Head full of noise. And one conclusion coming too quickly… but impossible to avoid.
He doesn’t want to talk to me.
Back at the studio, Ilya finally noticed the phone. He picked it up. Checked it. One missed call from Jane. His jaw tightened slightly.
His thumb hovered over the screen. Thinking. Feeling. But he didn’t do anything. Not yet. He set the phone back down.
—Everything okay?” João asked while taking a sip of his drink.
Ilya nodded.
—Yeah.”
Short lie. Convincing enough. João held his gaze one second longer. Like he knew. Like he’d been the one moving pieces around on the board. But he said nothing. Only smiled faintly.
—Back in five!” production shouted.
And they went back.
Final block of the day. Casual clothes now. More relaxed. More intimate. But the energy had changed. Ilya was there. Present. But something kept moving underneath him. João noticed it too. And that interested him more than it should have.
When everything finally wrapped, the studio reached that strange in-between state—half chaos, half celebration. Some people cleaning up. Others congratulating each other.
—Great work today,” one of the executives said while approaching them with another man. “But this… this could become something much bigger.”
João lifted an eyebrow.
—Talk.”
The man smiled the kind of smile people wear when they know they’re about to drop something huge.
—This isn’t just any offer,” he said. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
Ilya crossed his arms, listening.
—We want you in Carnival.”
Brief silence.
—Not as guests,” the man continued. “Not as spectators.”
Pause.
—On the main float.”
Another pause.
—Front and center.”
—What?” Ilya frowned immediately.
—Full costumes,” the other executive added. “Samba. High-level production. International exposure. Millions of people watching.”
João let out a disbelieving laugh.
—You’re serious?”
—Completely,” they answered. “This doesn’t happen for just anyone.”
—And the pay?” João asked directly.
The two men exchanged a look.
—More than what you’re making today.”
That was enough.
João turned toward Ilya, eyes already glowing with excitement.
—Did you hear that?”
Ilya shook his head immediately.
—No.”
—What do you mean no?”
—No,” Ilya repeated more firmly. “I’m not doing that.”
—Why not?” João stepped toward him.
—Because I’m not.”
—What part of it isn’t your thing?” João pushed. “Being up there with thousands of people watching? All that energy?”
—I don’t know how to dance samba.”
João exhaled sharply, almost laughing.
—Again with that…”
He stepped closer. Lowered his voice.
—You don’t need to know how to dance.”
Ilya looked at him seriously.
—Then what?”
João held his gaze this time without playing around.
—You just need to let yourself be seen.”
Pause.
—And feel it.”
Ilya clenched his jaw.
—It’s not that simple.”
—Yeah, it is,” João answered immediately. “They’re putting an opportunity in front of you people would kill for.”
—I’m not interested.”
—Lie.”
That stopped him.
Ilya stared at him harder now.
—You don’t know what interests me.”
João didn’t step back.
—Yes, I do.”
Heavy silence.
—You’re interested in feeling something,” João continued more quietly. “Because you’ve spent all day acting like part of you is somewhere else.”
Direct hit.
Ilya didn’t answer. But he didn’t move either.
—This…” João added, gesturing around the studio, “isn’t just money. It’s experience. It’s life.”
Pause.
—It’s now.”
Ilya looked away for one second. Only one. But it was enough. Because everything was there.
Shane.
The call.
The message.
The doubt.
And now this. Another thing he didn’t understand. Another thing moving something inside him.
—Come on, Ilya,” João said again, softer this time. “Do it with me.”
That with me… landed harder than it should have.
Ilya closed his eyes briefly and inhaled slowly, like part of him already knew whatever came out next wasn’t entirely right.
—…fuck.”
He opened his eyes again. Looked at all of them. João. The executives. Himself.
—I’m gonna regret this.”
Pause.
—But yes.”
Silence.
And then: smiles. Satisfaction. Movement. João smiled sideways. Victorious. But not because of the contract.
And Ilya…
Ilya didn’t fully understand why he had said yes. But he knew something worse. He couldn’t take it back anymore.
Suddenly, the noise of the studio no longer sat on top of him. For the first time all day… Ilya was alone. Or close enough to it. He leaned back against one of the side walls far from the cameras, far from the voices, far from everything. He exhaled slowly. Heavy. Like his body was finally allowing itself to feel.
He pulled out his phone. Held it for a few seconds without doing anything. Just… staring at it. And then he unlocked it. Gallery. The first picture didn’t matter. He kept scrolling. One. Another. Another. Until he reached them. The ones that mattered.
Shane.
Shane laughing with his head thrown back.
Shane with that awkward, honest smile that somehow always felt ridiculous and perfect at the same time.
Shane asleep beside him.
Hair messy.
Freckles scattered across his face like nothing else in the world existed.
Ilya let out a quiet breath through his nose. Almost a laugh.
—Idiot…” he murmured softly.
That stupid slow hockey player.
With those absurdly perfect freckles.
He kept scrolling.
Videos.
Blurry photos.
Meaningless screenshots.
Moments that once felt insignificant… and now somehow meant everything.
He opened their conversation.
Stupid messages.
Ridiculous ones.
Boring ones.
Filled with nonsense. Memes. Random comments. Arguments over absolutely nothing.
And then—
Got home safe.
Miss you.
Sleep.
Love you.
Ilya swallowed slowly.
Ran his tongue across his lips.
Thinking.
Feeling.
Sorting things out.
For the first time… without anger. Without impulse. Without all the noise clouding everything.
João.
The words.
The doubt.
Rose.
The images.
And then—
Shane.
The consistency.
The way he had always been there.
Without games.
Without masks.
Ilya closed his eyes briefly and breathed.
And there…
he understood.
Not everything.
But enough.
He didn’t know if he believed him completely. He wasn’t naïve enough for that. Not after what he’d seen. But he did know one thing. Something he couldn’t deny anymore. He missed him. Thought about him constantly. Needed him. And beyond all of that… he loved him.
Ilya opened his eyes again.
Looked down at the phone.
Determination. Finally.
—…we need to talk.”
His fingers moved quickly.
Opened the contact.
Jane.
Ready to call.
And right as he was about to press—
—Ilya!”
The voice yanked him out of it instantly.
—We need you now,” an assistant said while hurrying toward him. “We have to get you ready. We’re running late.”
Ilya lowered the phone slowly.
One second.
Annoyed.
Interrupted.
—Give me a minute.”
—There is no minute,” she answered. “It’s now.”
And just like that… the moment shattered.
—Come on,” she insisted. “Everyone’s already ready.”
Ilya clenched his jaw. Looked at the phone one last time. Hesitated. And then… put it away.
—Let’s go.”
The next room felt like another universe entirely. Warm lights. Massive mirrors. People moving with precision. Brushes. Glitter. Color everywhere.
—Sit down,” someone instructed.
And just like that… they started. Paint brushed across his skin. Light… but visible. Glitter spreading over his shoulders. Across his chest. Down his arms.
—Relax,” one of the makeup artists said. “It has to look natural.”
Ilya exhaled slowly.
Then they adjusted the costume. Or what little there actually was of it. Minimal fabric. Designed to show, not cover. He felt the air against his skin. Different. Exposed.
—Perfect,” someone murmured nearby. “That body is insane.”
Ilya ignored the comment. But he felt it anyway. Then came the headdress.
Feathers. Tall. Imposing. Bright colors exploding upward. They placed it carefully, adjusting every angle. Measuring. Tightening.
—Look at you.”
Ilya lifted his eyes toward the mirror. And for one second… he didn’t recognize himself.
This wasn’t the ice.
Wasn’t the uniform.
Wasn’t Boston.
Wasn’t Ottawa.
It was something else.
Something wilder.
More visible.
More… vulnerable.
And at that exact moment, a nearby phone was recording. Livestream. Thousands joining instantly. Comments flooding upward nonstop. And thousands of miles away… the storm inside Shane had finally started calming down. Slightly. He sat alone in the airport waiting area with his phone in his hand, staring at the screen without really seeing it. Until a live video popped up. He frowned. Opened it. And saw him. Ilya. Glitter across his skin. His body exposed. Massive feathers rising behind him. People touching him. Adjusting him. Preparing him. Shane went completely still.
—What the fuck is this…?”
His chest tightened instantly.
Jaw locking hard.
He didn’t think.
Didn’t process.
Didn’t analyze.
He just reacted.
Called.
Lily.
Meanwhile—
—LET’S GO, LET’S GO!” people shouted. “They’re waiting for us!”
Ilya was already walking toward the float surrounded by noise, bodies, movement. Music beginning to bleed through the streets in the distance.
His phone still in his hand.
It vibrated again.
Jane.
Ilya looked at it. One second. Only one. And then someone slammed into him while rushing past. Another person grabbed his arm, pulling him forward. The phone slipped. Fell.
—Wait!” Ilya turned sharply.
He looked down. But it was already gone.
Too many feet.
Too much movement.
Too many people.
—Ilya!” someone shouted. “Keep moving! We can’t stop!”
He looked back one more time.
Nothing.
—Move!”
They pulled him forward. And he had no choice but to keep going.
No call.
No answer.
No closure.
And right there…
everything started breaking apart.