"It's been over a month and a half since I left the Mendez manor unceremoniously," Tristan whispered to himself while standing by the window of the safehouse.
"Where do I go from here?" Tristan asked himself. He needed answers soon because the treatment sessions were almost over.
Where would he live? Would Lord Shannon still offer him refuge? And if so, under what terms?
"We need to talk," he murmured aloud. "Work out a payment plan. I can't be a guest forever."
Eira appeared at the doorway, holding a folded set of clothes and polished shoes. "You have a guest of honor attending your performance. Best not to look like a forest spirit."
Tristan took the clothes with a grateful smile. "Courtesy of Lord Shannon?"
Eira nodded. "He left them with a note. Said you'd know when to wear them."
He chuckled nervously. "That's cryptic."
"You'll do fine," she said. "He's not here to judge. Just... to listen."
Tristan dressed with shaking fingers. Surprisingly, the clothes were tailor fitted to his slender form. And the pair of leather shoes with socks fit snugly. He felt brand new.
When he stepped into the main room, there was a makeshift stage, food set on the table, and a small gathering of Lord Shannon's trusted council members seated quietly.
The room hushed as Lord Shannon entered. He motioned for the guests to sit down and for Tristan to start his performance.
Tristan bowed his head. "Thank you, my lord, for everything. May I have a private audience with you later to discuss my stay. I'd like to work out a plan to earn for my keep."
Shannon raised a brow. "You think I'd let someone with your soul fade back into the margins? We'll speak after your performance."
Tristan nodded and took his place. He bowed to Lord Shannon and to the rest of the guests.
Eira snuffed the big oil lamps and left small candles flickering for subtle lighting effects. The music and lighting created a romantic atmosphere.
And the moment his bow touched the strings, everyone listened. The room faded. His nerves disappeared. He was transported in the opera house again, cloaked in velvet sound. Each stroke of the bow poured out grief, gratitude, and hope.
Halfway through, the violin that survived a fire, did not survive his come back piece. A string snapped with a sharp twang. Gasps echoed.
He didn't flinch. Instead, he reached for his other violin, the one he used at his debut and the one Shannon had left in his room with a simple note tucked inside.
Played again from the top.
He played not just for the people in the room, but for the memory of who he'd been. For the camp, for the betrayal, for the quiet hands that healed him. For Shannon. He followed the first piece with a faster tempo. A more upbeat tune with a lot of frills.
And as the last note lingered, Tristan opened his eyes and found the world watching.
This time, he didn't look away.
After the guests left and the final applause faded into memory, Lord Shannon remained seated, eyes calm and steady. "You did well. Remarkable come back."
Tristan nodded, his expression earnest. "I'm glad you enjoyed the performance, with a slight hiccup. Sorry about the chord."
"Not your fault. A true artist like what you've shown can think on his feet, improvise when things don't go as planned."
"Shall we discuss your next steps?" Shannon asked.
"Yes, please. I'd like to continue to stay under your protection. I can help around the house. Maybe even assist Eira. And…if possible, repay you in some way."
Shannon's smile was faint but kind. "I admire your integrity, but payment isn't necessary. However, options are important. So here they are."
He leaned forward. "You may stay here at the safehouse permanently. It's secluded and quiet, and Eira enjoys the company. Or I can offer you a place in a cottage near the city. Closer to culture, but still removed from your family."
Tristan's brow furrowed. "What about protection? If I'm near the city... won't I be more vulnerable?"
"I've taken care of that," Shannon replied. "You're officially under my custody, as I stated. But now I've filed a territorial bond with the local council. No member of your family, or their business partners, can approach you within thirty paces without facing legal retaliation. Your grandfather included."
Tristan exhaled slowly. "I miss him. But I can't go back."
Shannon's gaze softened. "You don't have to."
Tristan thought for a moment. "And employment?"
"You have three paths." Shannon lifted a hand, counting each off. "One, you continue performing under my banner. I'll sponsor a series of recitals and hold them in the opera house, cultural salons, and charity events. You'll be paid well and protected."
Tristan tilted his head. "That's... grand, but scary."
"Two," Shannon continued, "you perform in smaller venues. Town gatherings, festivals, private functions. Less pressure. A slower return."
"And the third?"
"Teach," Shannon said. "I'll establish a small music school on your behalf, or help you join one already running. Let others learn from your journey."
Tristan looked stunned. "I didn't think I had that many options."
"You've earned them."
Tristan fell quiet. "I think... I'd like to live near the city. The idea of performing again is very exciting. Maybe start with smaller events first. And if I can teach a few students, that would be great."
"Done," Shannon said easily. "We'll set it up. And Tristan?"
He looked up.
"You don't have to repay me in gold. But when you're ready, play me the piece that comes next."
Eira cleared the table. He found a package near Shannon's vacated chair. It was for Tristan.
"A gift for the young master," Eira called out.
Tristan stared at Eira and then to the package. It is unmistakably a violin. The size, the shape and the weight was a dead give-away.
"How can I repay such kindness?" Tristan murmured.
"You know the answer, you always did." Eira cryptically replied.