Laura inhales to continue.
There is more she could say.
About Madame Virelle.
About legacy.
About the word trauma sitting half-formed in her mind.
She opens her mouth—
And nothing comes.
Not because she is withholding.
Because the effort feels disproportionate.
Her thoughts feel thick.
As if moving through water.
Axel waits.
He does not prompt.
The silence stretches.
Laura becomes aware of how tired she feels.
Not the kind of tired that follows rehearsal.
Not muscle fatigue.
Not sleep deprivation.
This feels cellular.
As if something inside her has been running for years—
And has finally stopped.
Her shoulders drop without permission.
The bench feels harder than it did before.
Cooler.
Her hands rest loosely in her lap.
They no longer feel like instruments.
Just hands.
Heavy ones.
"I…" she starts.
The word dissolves halfway out.
She closes her mouth.
Tries again.
The sentence refuses to assemble.
Her mind is no longer sharp enough to structure it.
That frightens her faintly.
But the fear is distant.
Muted by the weight settling through her limbs.
Axel shifts slightly.
Not closer.
Just angled toward her.
"You don't have to keep going."
His voice is low.
Steady.
She nods automatically.
Grateful.
That is unusual.
She does not usually accept permission to stop.
Her head feels warm.
Eyes heavier than they should be.
She blinks slowly.
The world tilts by a fraction.
Not dizziness.
Just gravity asserting itself.
She has always been able to override fatigue.
Through discipline.
Through posture.
Through will.
Now—
Will feels dim.
She inhales deeply.
It does not sharpen her focus.
It only confirms how tired she is.
"I didn't know," she murmurs quietly.
The sentence trails off.
She isn't sure what she didn't know.
That she was tired?
That she was carrying something?
That she could stop?
The thought dissolves before it completes.
Her head tips slightly forward.
She corrects it once.
Twice.
The third time—
She doesn't.
The warmth at her side is steady.
Familiar.
She lets her temple brush lightly against Axel's shoulder.
It feels temporary.
Just resting.
Just for a moment.
She expects herself to pull back.
To reassemble posture.
To apologize.
She does not.
Her body feels too heavy to perform correction.
Her breathing slows.
Deepens.
Unforced.
The weight in her chest spreads outward.
Not painful.
Just final.
She hasn't fallen asleep in public since she was a child.
Even then, it was rare.
Sleep was inefficient.
Sleep meant vulnerability.
Her mind registers that distantly.
It does not act on it.
Axel does not move.
Does not stiffen.
Does not comment.
His shoulder adjusts subtly to support the angle of her head.
One hand lifts slightly—
Then rests loosely against his own knee instead of touching her.
He stays still.
So she can stay still.
Laura exhales.
Long.
Unmeasured.
And for the first time in years—
She does not hold herself upright.
The streetlamp hums overhead.
The park is silent.
Laura's breathing evens out fully.
Deep.
Unconscious.
She has not decided to sleep.
Her body has.
And she does not resist.