Her knee tremors again.
Not violently.
Just enough.
Her balance shifts backward by a fraction.
This time she cannot correct it in time.
Axel's hand tightens around her forearm.
The other comes to her waist.
Not possessive.
Stabilizing.
She doesn't fall.
But she doesn't stand independently either.
The room is silent.
Too silent.
No music.
No hum of rehearsal.
No Sunny laughter.
Just their breathing.
Laura becomes acutely aware of how much weight she is placing into him.
She tries to straighten.
Her legs respond slower than expected.
"Let go," she says automatically.
It sounds like habit.
Not conviction.
Axel doesn't.
Not immediately.
"Laura."
Her name lands steady.
Not panicked.
Not raised.
Grounded.
She meets his eyes for the first time since stepping inside.
He's assessing.
And something in his expression shifts.
Recognition.
This isn't clumsiness.
This isn't lack of sleep.
This isn't a moment.
This is accumulation.
Her pride flares briefly.
"I'm fine."
The words feel thinner now.
Axel doesn't argue.
He simply adjusts his grip so she's fully upright before easing his hands away.
But he doesn't step back.
Not far.
Close enough that if she shifts again—
He'll catch her faster.
Laura inhales deeply.
Tests her legs again.
Steady.
For now.
But the effort required is visible.
Even to her.
Her body feels unfamiliar.
Unreliable.
That frightens her more than emotional confusion ever did.
"I just need a minute," she says.
This time softer.
Less defensive.
Axel nods once.
"You're getting one."
Not condescending.
Not dismissive.
Permission without authority.
Support without control.
Laura moves to sit on the piano bench.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
She lowers herself carefully, as if negotiating with gravity.
Her hands rest in her lap.
She stares at the keys.
White.
Black.
Unchanging.
For years, they responded perfectly to her command.
Now her own body feels less obedient.
She doesn't cry.
Doesn't dramatize.
Doesn't spiral.
She just sits there.
Breathing.
Understanding something she can no longer ignore.
The exhaustion isn't theoretical.
The detachment isn't philosophical.
Her body has stopped compensating.
And she cannot out-discipline that.
Axel stays where he is.
Not hovering.
Not retreating.
Just present.
Again.
Laura finally exhales.
Long.
Unmeasured.
"I don't think this is just tired."
It's the most honest sentence she's spoken all day.
Axel nods slowly.
"I know."
No panic.
No solution yet.
Just acknowledgment.
The studio feels different now.
For the first time—
Laura isn't holding the room together.
She's sitting inside it.
Vulnerable.
Uncertain.
Not in control.
And it hasn't fallen apart.
Morning light hits the piano keys.
Laura places her hands above them.
She doesn't press down.
Doesn't test a note.
She just hovers there.
For once—
She isn't setting the tempo.
She's waiting to feel it.
And beside her—
Axel doesn't try to conduct either.
He just stays.