Chapter 1 — The Quiet Girl at the Piano
The music room was always empty at this hour.
That was why Luna liked it.
Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting long golden bars across the polished floor. Dust drifted lazily in the light, undisturbed like the room itself had been holding its breath all day, waiting for someone quiet enough not to break it.
Luna Dervo slipped inside without a sound.
She closed the door gently behind her, careful. always careful not to let it click too loudly. Her fingers lingered on the handle for a moment, listening. Nothing. No footsteps in the hallway. No voices. Just silence.
Safe.
Only then did she move further into the room.
Her steps were soft, almost unnaturally so, as she crossed the space toward the piano. Years of habit had taught her how to move without drawing attention how to exist without being noticed. It wasn’t something she had learned consciously.
It was something she had always known.
The piano waited for her in the corner, black and still, its surface catching fragments of light like a quiet mirror. Luna approached it the way someone might approach a sleeping animal slow, respectful, as if it might startle.
She pulled the bench out just enough and sat.
For a moment, she didn’t play.
Her hands hovered over the keys, fingers slightly curled, as though remembering something older than thought. Her head tilted just a fraction, listening not to the room, but to something deeper, something internal.
A rhythm. A pull.
Then she exhaled, soft and steady.
And began.
The first note was barely there. A whisper of sound.
Then another.
And another.
The melody unfolded slowly, like cautious footsteps in the dark hesitant at first, testing the space. But soon it deepened, growing into something fuller, something that filled the quiet room with an ache too heavy to name.
This was where Luna spoke.
Not with words those always got tangled somewhere between her thoughts and her mouth but with sound. With pressure and release. With the way her fingers pressed into the keys just a little harder when something inside her tightened.
Music didn’t ask questions.
It didn’t expect answers.
It just… understood.
Her shoulders relaxed as she played, tension melting from her frame in small, almost imperceptible shifts. Her breathing synced with the rhythm, steady and low. Her eyes half-lidded, focused not on the keys but somewhere beyond them.
If anyone had been watching, they might have noticed the way she moved fluid, precise, instinctive.
Or the way her head tilted slightly toward the faintest sounds beyond the room.
Or how, when a chair creaked faintly in the hallway outside, her fingers faltered for only a fraction of a second before continuing her body already alert, already aware.
Luna didn’t think about these things. They were simply part of her. The quiet sensitivity to every shift in the air. The way sudden noises felt too sharp, too loud like claws dragging against glass.
The instinct to retreat, to observe, to stay just out of reach. To watch before being seen. Her brother used to joke about it.
“You’re like a cat,” he had said once, ruffling her hair despite her quiet protest. “Always lurking. Always watching.”
She hadn’t known how to respond to that.
Because he wasn’t entirely wrong.
The thought flickered through her mind as her hands moved faster now, the melody turning restless. There was something restless inside her too something that never quite settled, no matter how quiet the room became.
Something that only ever softened when she was here. When she played.
The music swelled, filling the space, brushing against the walls and lingering in the corners like something alive. Her fingers danced across the keys now, no longer hesitant, but certain driven by feeling rather than thought.
This was hers.
The only place she didn’t feel like she had to hold herself together so tightly. The only place she could let something slip through the cracks. Her expression shifted, just slightly. A softness. A vulnerability that rarely surfaced outside these walls.
A faint sound.
Footsteps.
Luna’s head turned sharply toward the door before she could stop herself. The music stumbled, Not much. Most people wouldn’t have noticed.
But she did.
Her body stilled, every sense sharpening at once. The footsteps passed. Her shoulders lowered again, though not completely this time. The feeling lingered now like a thread pulled too tight.
Her fingers returned to the keys, slower now. Softer.
More guarded, That was how it always was. The world outside never stayed gone for long.
Her brother especially.
He had a way of finding her even when she tried not to be found.
A faint crease formed between her brows as she played, the melody shifting once more, something heavier threading through it now. Not quite sadness. Not quite anger.
Something in between.
He wasn’t unkind.
That would have been easier.
But he didn’t understand her silence. Didn’t understand why she pulled away, why she bristled at touch, why she preferred shadows over people.
And Luna... Luna didn’t know how to explain it.
Didn’t have the words, So she stayed quiet And he filled the silence for her.
Sometimes too much.
Her fingers pressed harder into the keys. The sound deepened, resonating through the room like a heartbeat.
Too loud.
Too close.
Too much.
She faltered again, breath catching slightly as her hands stilled mid-motion.
Silence rushed back in.
Luna stared at the keys for a long moment, her reflection faintly visible in the polished black surface above them. Dark eyes. Unreadable.
Careful.
Always careful.
Slowly, she lowered her hands into her lap.
The room felt different now. Not unsafe but no longer entirely hers.
She tilted her head slightly, listening and There it was again.
Footsteps.
Closer this time.
Luna’s gaze flicked to the door. A quiet tension settled into her shoulders, subtle but undeniable. He’d found her.
Again.
She didn’t move, Didn’t speak.
Just waited still as glass, silent as breath as the handle began to turn.
