The Steinway sat in the corner of Clarence's private music room like a slumbering beast—black, glossy, untouched since Kaylee's arrival.
Until now.
It was just past 5 a.m. The tower slept.
Kaylee, hands wrapped in fresh surgical gauze, stepped barefoot across the hardwood floor.
She stood in front of the piano, heart pounding.
Her fingers hovered over the keys.
The silence was louder than any music she'd ever played.
And then—she pressed one.
A hesitant C.
Then another.
A broken arpeggio.
A flutter of pain shot through her wrist, but she didn't stop.
Slowly, shakily, she played the opening to *River Flows in You*, each note ghosting into the air like breath in winter.
Her hands trembled.
Her soul didn't.
Behind a wall of tinted glass, a red light blinked—security camera live
