They reach the sidewalk outside the park.
Morning traffic hums past.
Normalcy resumes without permission.
Laura straightens her spine fully.
Shoulders back.
Chin level.
Breathing measured.
Reassembly.
She smooths her hair with deliberate precision.
Adjusts the collar of Axel's jacket still around her shoulders.
Hands it back to him without comment.
"Thank you."
The words are formal.
Balanced.
Contained.
Axel takes it.
Nods.
Doesn't remark on the distance returning.
Her mind begins rebuilding structure.
Interview in six days.
Rehearsal schedule needs adjustment.
Sunny will ask questions.
Zane will notice tone shifts.
Variables.
Manageable ones.
She can handle those.
She always has.
"Let's head back," she says.
Neutral.
Directive.
Familiar.
Axel studies her for half a second longer than necessary.
Not suspicious.
Just observing.
"Okay."
He doesn't challenge the tone.
Doesn't soften it.
Doesn't mirror it either.
He walks beside her.
Not behind.
Not ahead.
Her steps are steady now.
Deliberate.
She focuses on rhythm again.
Left.
Right.
Left.
Measured pace restores confidence.
The fog from last night feels thinner in daylight.
Less consuming.
She convinces herself it was exhaustion.
A temporary lapse.
Nothing structural.
They pass a storefront window.
Laura catches her reflection briefly.
Composed.
Alert.
Functional.
She looks like herself.
That should reassure her.
It does not fully.
Because she remembers the weight of leaning.
The absence of control.
The sleep she did not authorize.
Her body had chosen something without her approval.
That fact lingers beneath the surface.
"You should probably sleep," Axel says quietly.
Not accusatory.
Not concerned.
Just factual.
"I did," she replies.
Even.
He doesn't argue.
But she feels the pause between them.
They approach the building.
Rehearsal space upstairs.
Familiar door.
Familiar steps.
Structure waits.
Laura inhales once more.
Deep.
Calibrated.
Mask secured.
If Sunny asks, she will say she needed air.
If Zane watches, she will say she felt off.
If anyone presses, she will minimize.
She is good at that.
But when she places her hand on the door handle—
There's a flicker of hesitation.
Small.
Almost invisible.
Inside that room, she is the one who sets tempo.
Outside, she did not.
The difference is subtle.
But it exists.
Axel notices the pause.
He doesn't comment.
Just stands there.
Present.
Not demanding she move.
Not filling silence.
Just there.
Laura tightens her grip slightly.
Opens the door.
Steps inside.
-
The studio smells faintly of wood polish and coffee.
The piano waits exactly where she left it.
Predictable.
Stable.
Laura walks toward it.
Back straight.
Hands steady.
Reassembled.
But somewhere beneath the surface—
The tempo has shifted.
And she is not entirely certain she can force it back into place.