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Chapter 4: Sparks at the Edges
The rain had lingered into the afternoon, threading silver streaks across the tall windows of Saint Clair's music wing. The corridors here felt different from the rest of the academy—quieter, muted, footsteps softened by thick carpets and the faint resin-and-polish scent that clung to the air. Even the echoes seemed gentler, as if sound itself obeyed the hush expected of this place.
Elara hadn't planned on coming. It wasn't on her schedule, and she wasn't the type to wander aimlessly. But the library had been unbearable: every table occupied, voices rising in a tide of chatter, eyes flicking toward her with curiosity too thinly veiled to ignore. The thought of retreating to her dorm was worse—thin walls, thicker whispers. She needed somewhere else. Somewhere the weight of Saint Clair's noise couldn't reach.
The music room was almost empty. A grand piano commanded the center like a sentinel, its lacquered body gleaming beneath the gray wash of light. Dusty violins rested behind glass along the walls, their strings long silent. A harp stood sentinel in the far corner, its golden frame catching the dim glow.
She slipped into a seat near the back, notebook balanced on her knees. The hush soothed her, wrapping around her shoulders like a cloak spun from rain. For the first time that day, she let her breath fall slow, steady.
But peace never lasted long at Saint Clair.
The door creaked open. Footsteps—measured, unhurried—broke the stillness.
Elara's chest tightened before she even looked up.
Adrian.
Of course.
He didn't look surprised to find her there. If anything, his lips curved into the faintest smirk, as though he'd expected her—or worse, orchestrated the encounter.
"Winters," he said, his voice low and amused. "Hiding?"
Elara snapped her notebook shut with a sharp motion. "Studying. Not everything revolves around you."
A soft chuckle slipped from him, too at ease for someone uninvited. He crossed the space with that careless grace she was beginning to hate—the kind that drew eyes without effort, as though gravity bent to him rather than the other way around. His blazer hung loose, his tie undone, the studied disarray that somehow looked deliberate.
"You know," he said, brushing his hand across the piano's lid, "most people would feel honored to share air with me."
Elara arched a brow, letting a dry edge cut through her words. "And yet here I am—breathing just fine."
His smile sharpened, angled toward challenge. He slid onto the piano bench with a lazy elegance, pressing one key. The note rang out, lingering in the hollow room, vibrating faintly through the floorboards.
"You play?" he asked.
Her fingers tightened on her notebook. "A little."
"Then prove it."
Her throat went dry. "I don't owe you anything."
"True." He pressed another key, softer this time, a ghost of sound. "But you want to, don't you?"
Heat prickled at the back of her neck. She hated that he could see through her—or at least made her believe he could. He always seemed to know exactly where to push, and worse, he enjoyed it.
Before she could overthink, she stood. The scrape of her chair seemed loud against the hush. She crossed the room, each step deliberate, refusing to let him think she was being drawn like a moth to his flame.
He shifted slightly on the bench to make room, though his presence pressed against her all the same. Close enough to feel, too close to ignore.
Her fingers brushed the keys—hesitant, faltering at first. But muscle memory steadied her. Slowly, a melody took shape, quiet and wistful, threading through the gray veil of rain like a secret thought given voice. The notes filled the room gently, carrying fragments of longing she hadn't meant to reveal.
She didn't look at him. Didn't need to. She felt his gaze like a weight, heavy, assessing, as if he were memorizing her in silence.
By the time the last note faded, her pulse was racing, her breath unsteady.
Adrian leaned in, voice brushing the edge of her ear. "Unexpected."
Elara turned her head, meeting his eyes despite the closeness. "You think you've already read me, don't you? Like I'm just another book for you to annotate."
His smile curved, slow and dangerous. "Not a book. A puzzle."
"And you're so sure you can solve me?"
For the first time, something flickered. The arrogance dimmed—not gone, but edged with something quieter. Curiosity. Maybe even respect.
"Not sure at all," he admitted softly.
The words unsettled her more than any smirk could. For a heartbeat, she wondered if she was the one peeling him open, not the other way around.
She straightened, breaking the fragile thread between them. "Then stop trying."
He gave a low laugh, shaking his head. "Not a chance."
The door slammed open.
A cluster of students spilled in, laughter and chatter ricocheting off the walls. The fragile quiet shattered instantly. They barely looked at her as they claimed instruments, tuning strings and shuffling sheet music. But their glances at Adrian were sharp—quick, reverent, almost deferential.
Adrian rose smoothly, sliding his hands into his pockets as if the interruption belonged to him too. "Later, Winters," he murmured, brushing past with the faintest grin.
The others filled the room with the warm-up chaos of bows and strings, but Elara slipped back to her corner seat, pulse still uneven. She pretended to write in her notebook though her hand shook faintly.
Then she caught it.
Two violinists whispered as they tightened their strings. One leaned close to the other. "Why does he always come here?"
The second shrugged. "You don't know? His mother used to—"
The rest dropped too low to hear.
Elara's brows knit. Used to what?
Her gaze flicked instinctively toward the door, where Adrian had disappeared down the corridor.
For the first time, she realized she wasn't the only one guarding secrets.
The thought lingered long after the students began their rehearsal, the music swelling and surging around her. She should have left, but she stayed. Stayed because she wanted to hear if anyone else whispered his name. Stayed because she wanted to understand why a boy who wore arrogance like armor would choose a room like this, filled with shadows and silent instruments, when he could hold court anywhere else.
And as the rain eased against the high windows, she pressed her pen to paper again—not to take notes, but to capture a question she hadn't meant to ask:
What are you hiding, Adrian?
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