The Rogue Luna

Chapter 11 – A Door Opens

Aria’s Pov

It is morning again, and I had tossed and turned the night before, my stomach twisting and growling so loudly I thought it might wake the people in the room next to mine. I had coins from playing in the square. Yes, but coins didn’t stretch as far as I wanted them to. The bread I bought in the morning was already gone, and what was left in my pocket would barely buy me another night here. Fear pressed on my chest, heavier than the blankets.

I had thought maybe things were starting to change after yesterday, that maybe the old woman’s words meant something, but right now, none of that mattered. Words didn’t fill an empty stomach.

By the time evening came, my legs felt weak and my lips were sore from playing all day in the square. I had earned a few coins, but not enough. The crowd had been smaller, and some people had barely glanced at me. Maybe they were too busy. Maybe they had already grown tired of me. Either way, I couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that if I didn’t find something else soon, I’d end up back on the street, clutching my trumpet until someone stole it from me.

That thought scared me more than anything. Losing the trumpet would be like losing my mother all over again.

I was dragging my feet through the narrow streets when I noticed it. A faint glow of warm light spilling through a doorway. Laughter and chatter drifted out with it, mixed with the smell of roasted meat and something sweet. I stopped without meaning to; I was staring.

It was a tavern.

The sign above the door was crooked, painted with a name I couldn’t quite read, but I could tell what it was by the sound and smell alone. I had seen places like this from a distance but never dared to go in. Taverns meant people. People meant questions. And I didn’t know their rules.

But as I stood there, the cold wind cutting through my thin jacket, the thought of stepping inside clawed at me. My coins were too few and my stomach was too empty. If I didn’t try something new, I wouldn’t last much longer.

I clutched the trumpet case to my chest. “Just one chance,” I whispered to myself. “If they say no, I’ll leave.”

My hands were sweating by the time I pushed the door open.

The tavern was dimly lit, and the air was thick with the smell of smoke, ale, and food. Wooden tables were scattered around, some full, some half-empty. People laughed, shouted, and argued over mugs. A few heads turned when the door closed behind me, and I felt the weight of their stares immediately.

I kept my eyes down and held the case tighter.

A man behind the counter noticed me. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with graying hair and a face carved by years of hard work. His eyes narrowed slightly as he wiped his hands on a rag and walked over.

“You lost?” he asked, voice low and rough.

I swallowed. My throat was dry. “No. I… I can play music.”

One of his eyebrows lifted. “Music?” His eyes darted to the trumpet case. “That’s what you’re carrying around?”

“Yes.” My voice cracked, but I forced myself to keep going. “If you let me play… You can earn my keep. I don’t need much. Just food.”

For a moment, I thought he might laugh in my face. His mouth twitched like he wanted to.

But then he leaned on the counter, studying me. “You’re serious.”

I nodded quickly. “Please. Just give me one chance. If you don’t like it, I’ll go.”

He huffed, almost amused. “What’s your name, girl?”

“Aria.”

He nodded slowly. “Jonas,” he said, tapping his chest. “This is my place. I don’t usually let strangers wander in asking for favors.”

“I don’t want a favor,” I blurted. “I’ll play. I’ll work for it.”

Jonas rubbed his chin, then sighed. “Fine. One song. If you’re no good, out you go. If you’re decent, maybe I’ll think about it.”

My heart hammered as I set the case on a nearby table. My fingers shook while I took out the trumpet. People nearby had noticed now, curiosity was in their eyes. Some chuckled, while some whispered. My face burned, but I lifted the trumpet anyway.

I closed my eyes for a second. I thought of the nights I played alone, the sound echoing through empty alleys. I thought of my mother, pressing this trumpet into my hands before she died. I thought of Lucian’s betrayal, of the pack casting me out, and of the baby I never got to hold again.

When I started to play, the tavern went quiet.

The first note was low, soft, and almost trembling. Then another followed, smoother, and carrying more strength. I poured everything into the sound—my hunger, my grief, and my loneliness. The trumpet’s voice filled the room, weaving through the chatter, silencing it.

I didn’t look up, but I could feel their eyes on me. The scrape of chairs stopped. Even the mugs stopped clinking.

I played until my lips hurt and my chest burned. When I lowered the trumpet, silence stretched for a heartbeat. Then someone clapped another followed. And they put coins on the table beside me.

I blinked twice because I was stunned.

Jonas was watching me with an expression I couldn’t read—something between surprise and thoughtfulness. He finally grunted. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

I wiped at my forehead nervously. “Does that mean—?”

“It means,” he interrupted, “you can come back tomorrow. You play, and I’ll feed you. Don’t expect money, not yet. But you won’t go hungry here.”

The relief that hit me almost knocked me over. My chest loosened, my hands shook as I lowered the trumpet back into its case. “Thank you,” I whispered.

Jonas just nodded, already turning back toward the counter. “Don’t thank me yet. Just don’t disappoint.”

I sat down and ate the meal he offered—a plate of stew, thick and hot, with bread that didn’t taste like stone. I ate slowly at first, then faster, until the bowl was empty. My stomach finally stopped twisting. For the first time since I left the pack, I wasn’t thinking about how long I could last.

When I stepped out of the tavern that night, the cold air didn’t bite as hard. My bag felt no heavier, my pockets no fuller, but inside me something had shifted.

A door had opened.