prelude
I’m not supposed to be here.
But I had to see her.
I’m playing at the Hawthorne Auditorium tonight. I got you a seat.
She still texts me.
Even after all these months.
Even though I never reply.
Even though I left without warning.
She should hate me.
It would be easier if she did.
But she doesn’t.
I stay hidden. Tucked in the shadows of the upper balcony. Half-obscured by the black velvet curtain. No one can see me.
But I see her.
Cove.
She doesn’t just play music.
She possesses it.
Every note bends to her fingers like it’s begging to be touched.
Her hair is swept into an elegant ponytail.
Swaying gently as she moves, exposing the nape of her neck—
A place I used to know.
A place I used to kiss like it was sacred.
This isn’t the first time I’ve seen her play.
But it’s the first time I’ve seen her like this.
Bathed in gold light.
Gowned in something that clings to every breath she takes.
The slit in her dress shifts with each pedal press, baring the soft curve of her thigh.
My throat tightens.
Fuck.
I remember those legs wrapped around me.
Her breath trembling in my ear.
Her nails carving promises into my back.
The way she used to whisper my name like it was a spell that kept her tethered to this world.
She doesn’t know I’m watching.
She never does.
Every man in this auditorium has his eyes on her.
I can feel their attention—
Like static crawling across my skin.
Their hunger.
Their awe.
And I want to rip them apart for it.
One by one.
But most of all - I want to destroy him.
Alastair.
Polished. Calm. A man who wears charm like a suit and hides the monster underneath.
Her teacher.
Her “mentor.”
Bullshit.
I see through him.
The way his hands linger too long when guiding hers.
The way his gaze drops to her mouth when she bites her lip in concentration.
The way he watches her like she’s something fragile he’s dying to ruin.
At first, she didn’t notice.
At first, her eyes still searched for me in every room, in every shadow.
But then…
She began looking at him the way she used to look at me.
That’s what kills me.
Not the hunger in his eyes—
But the way she’s begun to forget.
The dimming of her grief.
The soft return of her light.
And it isn’t for me.
I left to protect her.
From them.
And for a while after, she looked hollow.
Like something vital had been carved out of her.
And I watched. Always.
From the rooftops.
From the alleys.
From the dark.
I ached to go to her.
To fix what I broke.
But then she started smiling again. Laughing.
And the smile wasn’t for me.
It was for him.
Still, watching her now…
Watching her sway like silk over the piano, her fingers moving like a prayer—
Everything else disappears.
She doesn’t need a stage.
She is the stage.
The spotlight bends to her.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Boss. One of the safehouses has been breached. Six dead.
I stare at the message for a long, still moment.
Then look back at her.
Head bowed. Eyes closed. That look on her face she only wears when she’s somewhere far away.
Somewhere even I can’t follow.
I have to go.
But I’ll be back.
For her.
