Page 140 of Specters & Spotlights

She leaned into the emotion—the heartbreak, the hope, the terrible tenderness of realizing the story you believed about someone might not be the whole truth. She sang it like someone who had lived it.

Because she had.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement in the wings. Faces watching her.

Nick, one hand pressed to his mouth, eyes shining. Jen, arms crossed so tightly Elise could practically hear her trying not to cry. Graham, still as a statue, his expression open and unguarded in a way that made her chest ache.

The Bennet sisters clumped together in a soft knot of chiffon and worry and pride. All of them still, eyes locked on her. Bex wiped at their eyes with the heel of one hand.

And there—Lark, seated with her leg propped up, Cici’s face glowing from the phone balanced in her lap. Lark looked pale and exhausted, but her gaze was fixed on Elise, fierce with something like apology and faith.

The climax of the song built.

Elise planted her feet.

For most of her life, she had survived by making herself smaller. By keeping her strange little life folded neatly behind locked doors and long sleeves. By stepping out of the way before anyone could look too closely.

Now everyone was looking. And no one looked away.

The final note burst out of her—clear, bright, and impossible to ignore.

For half a second, there was silence.

The audience erupted first.

Applause crashed over the footlights. Gasps. Cheers. Even a whistle or two that definitely would have scandalized several fictional members of the British gentry.

Then from the wings came her people—hoots, cheers, muffled cheers, cast and crew alike trying very hard not to ruin the show while making it abundantly clear that they were losing their minds.

Elise stood in the center of it all, breathless, stunned, beaming.

The applause faded. The energy settled just enough for Elise to take a breath and remember that, unfortunately, she was not allowed to bask forever. There was still a musical to finish and one extremely persistent supernatural stalker to summon and banish in front of a paying audience.

The next scene rolled in smoothly. She was back onstage with the Gardiners when Darcy rejoined them. Graham’s eyes met hers, and the look nearly knocked the wind from her lungs.

Pride. Awe. A quiet promise that wasn’t in the script.

It was Darcy. It was Graham. It was theatre. It was truth.

Their moment was short-lived. The Gardiners broke the news: Lydia and Wickham had run away together.

The tone shifted. She and the Gardiners exited stage left, the weight of the scandal already gathering behind them.

She lingered in the wings just long enough to catch the first dark chords of “Reputation,” a haunting overture of disgrace and consequence. Graham remained center stage, commanding the scene with the kind of stillness that made the entire theatre lean toward him.

A tap landed on her shoulder.

“Costume change,” Gina murmured in her ear like a reminder from a different world.

Elise nodded, caught one last glimpse of Graham in the stage lights, and rushed down the stairs. By the time she returned to the wings, Darcy’s final confession floated into the darkened theatre.

“No One Will Know” flickered through the theatre like candlelight. Soft. Steady. Sacrificial. It was a song that asked for silence, and the theatre granted it.

Elise watched from the shadows, her hands clenched at her sides. Joy bloomed in her chest, sharp and unexpected, because Graham was everything Darcy should be.

But beneath that joy there was ache.

The ticking clock.