It's fully evening when I finally speak.
"She didn't leave because of the note."
Zane's head turns slightly.
Sunny doesn't move.
"She processed that."
"How?" Zane asks quietly.
"She analyzed it."
That earns the faintest exhale from Sunny.
Of course she did.
"She googled symptoms," I continue. "Read articles. Tried to categorize what happened."
Zane looks down at his hands.
"And?" he asks.
"And it didn't resolve."
A pause.
"She ended the piece a few days later. Midway through. Just… stopped."
They remember that part.
"She walked without direction."
The sentence feels specific enough to matter.
Zane's brow tightens slightly.
"That's when you followed her."
I nod once.
"She said she doesn't feel like herself."
Sunny's fingers curl slightly into her sleeves.
"She thinks she's been… functioning. Not choosing."
Zane looks up at that.
"Choosing what?"
"Anything."
I let that settle before continuing.
"She doesn't really have preferences."
Sunny frowns faintly.
"She does."
I shake my head.
"Not strong ones."
They wait.
"She doesn't taste food the way we do."
Sunny blinks.
"What do you mean?"
"Bland tea. Plain meals. Same order every time."
Zane nods slowly.
"She always lets you pick restaurants," he says.
"She lets anyone pick."
A quiet beat.
"She doesn't really remember scents either."
Sunny's expression shifts — small but visible.
"The candles I brought," she says softly. "She said they were fine."
Zane looks toward the trees.
"And the clothes," I add. "Tailored. Always structured. Never comfortable."
Sunny swallows.
"She thought that was normal."
Zane connects it first.
"She was trained that way."
I don't answer directly.
I don't have to.
"She sought help," I say instead.
That changes the atmosphere.
It grounds it.
"She saw a doctor. She's starting therapy."
Sunny exhales slowly.
"Okay," she says.
Not relief.
But steadiness.
Zane nods once.
"That's good."
The tension shifts from confusion to comprehension.
"She's not collapsing," I add. "She's… realizing."
Sunny looks at me carefully.
"And you?"
I hold her gaze.
"I'm listening."
That's the most honest answer I have.
The park is nearly empty now.
The air feels cooler against my face.
No one panics.
No one spirals into worst-case scenarios.
We sit with it.
With the knowledge that Laura has been carrying something older than the trio.
Older than the music.
Zane rests his elbows on his knees.
Sunny's shoulders lower slightly.
None of us speak for a while.
But this silence isn't heavy in the same way as before.
It's clearer.
And for the first time tonight, the quiet feels shared.