Bruno and I go rigid. We know those footsteps.
I hold him tighter, my eyes fixed on the corner where he’ll appear.
And he does. Hands in his pockets, he stops short, watching us.
Bruno moves away from me, squaring on all fours. I grab his collar.
“No, Bruno.”
He steps closer. Bruno’s body stiffens, alert. I brace myself to throw myself between his gun and Bruno if he repeats that scene.
He pulls his hand from his pocket. Bruno barks. My eyes lock onto his gloved hand, it’s empty. He lifts it and pats Bruno’s head.
I raise my eyes. His are locked on me. He watches me as he pets Bruno. The anger is still there. I don’t look long enough to see the hatred—I can’t bear it.
I get up on shaky legs, circle around him, and retreat into Bruno’s room.
Chapter 22
Elowen
I spent the entire day overthinking. They sent my lunch and dinner to Bruno’s room—which means he doesn’t want to see me. And why would he? To him, this is a carefully planned betrayal.
I thought a thousand times about telling him I’m not Avira. But every time, fear stops me cold.
I stare at the clock. Midnight. This has been the longest day in this house.
I get up. With Bruno, I make my way to the rose garden, the only place that can offer relief frommy own mind.
I sit on the bench and begin to play.
The music that pours out is heartbreaking—a composition telling the story of a love that broke a man, shattered a woman. A love that shouldn’t have existed, but that no one could stop. A love that was always a mistake.
But the heart doesn’t understand mistakes.
“I’ve never hated anything more than I hate you.”The words echo louder than the music. The hatred, the pain, the anger in his eyes burn through my soul.
My fingers keep moving across the keys. Tears fall.
Don’t hate me.
The music carries my unspoken pleading into the air—unanswered. There’s no use in begging now that nothing is left. The anguish tells its story through the notes, relentless and without pause.
I stop when my fingers can no longer move.
I open my eyes.
No one is here today.
I’ve played for over an hour, yet he doesn’t come. My ears waited for the sound of his footsteps—but I never hear them.
Salvario
She stops after playing for eighty minutes straight. The music is filled with overwhelming sorrow.
I rise from the step and walk down silently, stopping in the darkness at the bottom.
She comes down and walks through the hall. Her footsteps are heavy, her shoulders slumped. I watch her, jaw clenched, fists tight.
