She didn't miss the note.
That had been days earlier.
Zane had asked her to play one wrong on purpose. Just to feel it. Just to loosen it.
She had done it.
Cleanly.
Intentionally.
Then she had gone quiet for a few days after that. Thoughtful. Observing. Researching something on her phone when she thought no one noticed.
Today wasn't about the note.
Today she stopped mid-piece.
No warning. No mistake. No visible trigger.
She lifted her hands from the piano before the bridge resolved and stood up.
"We'll pick it up tomorrow," she said.
Sunny blinked. Zane opened his mouth, then closed it.
Laura walked out of the studio without her bag.
She wasn't walking fast.
That's what made him stand up.
She wasn't walking toward anything.
The others hesitated.
He didn't.
"I'll check on her," he said, already at the door.
She didn't turn when he caught up.
Didn't slow down either.
They walked past the bakery she never entered, past the café where Sunny liked to sit, past the record store Zane had dragged them into once.
Laura didn't look at any of it.
Her hands were folded neatly in front of her.
Not clenched. Not shaking.
Just… arranged.
She crossed streets without really checking if anyone followed.
He stayed a few steps behind.
Not close enough to crowd her.
Close enough that if she stopped suddenly, he wouldn't miss it.
She ended up at the park.
She sat on a bench without brushing it off first.
That's when he knew something was off.
Laura always brushed things off.
He sat beside her.
Not touching.
Not asking.
The sky shifted slowly from afternoon into something softer.
She stared straight ahead.
He followed her gaze.
There was nothing in particular there.
Just trees. A path. A couple walking a dog.
She didn't comment on any of it.
Neither did he.
Time passed.
He didn't check his phone.
She didn't move.
Eventually she spoke.
"I don't feel like myself."
Her tone wasn't cracked.
It wasn't fragile.
It sounded like a clinical observation.
He let the sentence sit.
She continued after a while.
"I keep trying to locate where I am."
A pause.
"I can't."
He looked at her profile.
There were no tears.
No visible strain.
Just fatigue.
He didn't say it would pass.
He didn't say she seemed fine.
He didn't say anything reassuring.
He just stayed.
The sun dipped lower.
She talked in fragments.
About the note.
About how her body reacted before she had time to think.
About googling things she shouldn't have needed to google.
About feeling mechanical.
At one point she said, almost offhand,
"I might not even like music."
He didn't respond to that either.
Not immediately.
He watched a leaf fall from a branch and land near her shoe.
She didn't notice.
They stayed until the sky turned dark enough that the park lights flickered on.
At some point her shoulders lost their rigid line.
She leaned.
Not deliberately.
Not asking.
Just… gravity.
He adjusted without comment.
He must have drifted for a few minutes.
When he opened his eyes, it was pale morning.
She was still beside him.
Awake.
Quiet.
They walked back without discussing the night.
She retrieved her bag from the studio floor.
Sat at the piano again.
Placed her hands on the keys.
Halfway through scales, her posture shifted.
Subtle.
Then not.
She wobbled.
He was already moving.
He caught her before she hit the bench.
She didn't protest.
Didn't insist she was fine.
Didn't correct him.
That registered more than anything.
Laura didn't lean.
She recalibrated.
But this time, she leaned.
He steadied her until her breathing evened.
Sunny and Zane hovered in the doorway, uncertain.
Laura dismissed them with a small nod.
He didn't let go until she was fully upright.
Later, when he was alone, one sentence replayed.
"I might not even like music."
He didn't feel panic.
Didn't feel threatened.
But something in him paused at that.
Euphony Trio had always been his dream.
She had helped build it.
Structured it.
Led it.
He had never asked whether she chose it.
He had assumed she did.
The thought didn't scare him.
It just… didn't sit right.
And he knew he wouldn't let the afternoon slide.