Isabelle's POV
Weeks crawled by. They didn't pass quietly.
St. Aurelia hadn't gone back to normal. The "Enigma" thing only got worse. It was like living in a cage made of mirrors. Everywhere I went, I could feel eyes on me. Boys who wouldn't have spit on me a month ago were suddenly hovering, giving me these weird, experimental smiles. The girls were worse. They just watched, quiet and still like cats, waiting for me to trip.
I stayed in the music hall. It was the only place where the air didn't feel like it was trying to choke me.
Then Mr. Keller dropped the bomb. The Winter Arts Exhibition was becoming a "competitive recital." At this school, that just meant blood sport. "External guests," he said. Translates to: rich people looking to buy a piece of someone's future.
"Do it," Julien whispered next to me. He touched my hand, just a quick, warm brush of skin that made me feel like I wasn't floating away. "Don't let them own the stage, Isabelle. Take it."
Another whispers took over the hallways.
"She's entering the competition."
"She has to."
"I don't think I have a chance against her."
"Did you hear her playing a few days ago?"
"I think that's what she will perform at the competition."
So I practiced, day and night. I practiced until my fingers were raw and bleeding. I woke up with melodies stuck in my head. I was always humming, trying to piece melodies together. And the whole time, I felt him. Dmitri. He never said a word. He never even came near the practice rooms. But the air changed whenever he was around. He wasn't competing. According to the gossip, "Volkovs don't compete unless they want to" but he was watching.
The night of the show, the Great Hall looked like a jewelry box. Gold lights, marble floors like black ice and a front row full of people wearing diamonds that definitely cost more than my life.
I was backstage, shaking so hard I thought I'd drop my violin. Julien found me in the dark. He looked like a million bucks in his suit but even his charming look tonight couldn't hide the worry in his eyes."
"You okay?"
"I'm fine," I lied. My hands were stiff.
"Don't try to be perfect," he said, stepping close enough that I could smell his cologne. "Just be you. Give them something they can't buy."
"I just want to get through this without dying," I muttered.
He gave me this sad, knowing look. "In this place? That's the same thing."
The curtain went up. A bunch of "perfect" performers went before me. They were great, I guess, but they sounded like robots. No soul. Just polish.
Then it was my turn.
The room went dead quiet when I walked into the light. I tucked the violin under my chin, took a breath and got ready to hit the first note of Zigeunerweisen.
Crr-ack.
It wasn't loud, but in that silence, it sounded like a gunshot. My bow arm jerked. A nasty, screeching sound tore through the hall.
I looked down, my heart dropping into my stomach. The wood of my bow had snapped right near the base. It was a jagged, ugly break. But it was too clean. Someone had notched it. Someone made sure that the second I put pressure on it, it would die.
The audience gasped. I felt the heat rising in my face. I wanted to run. I wanted to hide.
I looked at the front row. Dmitri was sitting there, leaning back, hands over his knee. He wasn't smiling, but he looked... satisfied. I know he wanted to see me break. He wanted me to fail in front of everyone.
Julien started to stand up, looking like he was gonna leap onto the stage to save me.
I looked at the broken wood. Then I looked at Dmitri.
No. Screw him.
And screw this.
Like hell I'll let this break me.
I reached back and grabbed a spare bow from the wings, a cheap, heavy school bow that felt like a club. It was clunky and stupid, but it was all I had.
The judges were whispering. People were muttering. I didn't care. I wasn't playing for them anyway.
I shut my eyes and played.
The first note cut through the room like a jagged blade. I poured everything, the rat in the box, the whispers, the way Dmitri looked at me, into those strings. I couldn't even remember the melodies I had spent days practicing. I played what it felt like to be small and angry.
I forgot about the gold lights. I forgot about the fancy people. I even forgot about Dmitri sitting in the front row. For a few minutes, I was just the music and the music was a ghost that wouldn't shut up
When I hit the last note, I was shaking. My chest was heaving.
Silence. Total, terrifying silence for a heartbeat. Then, the place exploded. It wasn't that polite clapping from before. It was a roar.
I bowed, my knees barely holding up and bolted backstage.
I almost hit the floor, but Julien caught me. "That wasn't just good, Isabelle," he whispered, sounding like he was about to cry. "You outshine everyone tonight."
I couldn't talk. I just tried to breathe. But through the curtain, I started hearing the real whispers, coming from the front row.
"She looks like... no way."
"The eyes. Did you see the way she tilted her head?"
"That woman from twenty years ago. The one who vanished."
I pressed my face into Julien's shoulder. I was terrified. A staff member ran past, mumbling about "technical problems." My duet with Julien? Cancelled. My sheet music? Gone. My registration? "Lost."
It wasn't just the bow. This was a hit job.
I peeked through a gap in the curtain. Dmitri was standing up. He didn't look happy. He looked somewhat pale. He looked... freaked out. Like he'd seen a ghost.
He was staring at the empty stage like something had slipped through his fingers. And for some reason, him looking scared was way worse than him looking like a jerk.
The night ended with champagne and people making deals, but everyone was talking about me. Not as a student. As a question.
She looks like someone, doesn't she?
I didn't know who "she" was. I didn't know what ghost was hiding in my face. But as I left, I felt the weight of this school's secrets settling on me.
Music gave me a voice. But in a place like this, having a voice is just an invitation for someone to try and take it away.