He smooths my dress back down. I press a palm against his chest, feel the beat beneath it. Try to memorize that too.
He holds my wrist. Lingers. Then lets go. Finger by finger.
And I leave before either of us can say something that doesn’t belong in this future memory.
With an aching heart, I return to the theater. Adeline is standing at the mic on stage, clutching her violin and scanning the crowd.
Her eyes light up when she sees me. She waves, motioning for me to come down.
“My mom can help me warm up since Mr. Tate is running late to start the show,” she says. “Can’t you?”
She’s already picking up a violin and bow, thrusting them toward me before I can respond.
“It’s just the Harper duet. Do you need the sheets?”
I shake my head. I played it with her at least eight times a day at the estate.
I nod once. Tap my foot. Whisper, “And one… two… three… four…”
Her notes slice the air. The audience quiets. They begin taking their seats as we run through the piece. It’s not the show yet—just the warm-up—but you’d never know it by the way she plays.
For several minutes, I match Adeline note for note, until she no longer needs me to. Until all I can do is follow from the background.
When we finish, I step away from the mic and let her take the stage alone.
She straightens her shoulders, and with a confident inhale, begins her solo.
In the middle of her set, I scan the room. And there he is. Ryder. Standing at the back.
Our eyes lock. My heart stumbles.
But I don’t miss a beat.
We strike the final note. The room goes still.
Then—an eruption of applause.
Adeline throws her arms around me. “Thank you so much, Miss Jane. I can’t wait until you hear the rest…”
“Anything for you,” I whisper, squinting at the crowd.
Ryder is gone.
End of Episode 6
Dissonant Notes
EPISODE 7
Ryder
Several days later…
I’m poring over coordinates for handling Rush Banks—lining up every possible angle, all while half-heartedly playing a solo game of chess. Anything to keep my brain occupied. Anything to keep from remembering the smell of her shampoo when she leaned in to say goodbye. The way her voice cracked when she said my name for the last time. The way I didn’t stop her.
Fuck…
I’ve always been good at separating things—emotions, people, pain. Filing them into mental drawers I never open twice.
