The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon when they returned to the cottage. The living room was bathed in the warm, golden light of the golden hour, casting long shadows across the floorboards.
Julian gravitated toward the upright piano immediately. He picked up the sheet music Elara had completed the day before, studying her handwritten notes with deep concentration.
"Do you mind?" he asked, gesturing to the piano bench.
Elara shook her head, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen. She watched as Julian sat down. He wasn't a master pianist—his hands were more accustomed to guitar strings and dough—but he had a good ear. He slowly pieced together the final, resolving chords she had written.
Hearing her own composition played back to her by someone else was a surreal experience. It sounded fragile, beautiful, and completely honest.
Julian let the final C-major chord ring out, his foot holding the sustain pedal until the sound dissolved into the air. He turned on the bench to look at her.
"It's perfect," he said softly. "It doesn't need lyrics to tell the story."
Elara walked over to the piano. She picked up a pencil and wrote on the margin of the paper: *A song isn't finished without a voice.*
Julian read the words. He looked at her, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe," he conceded. "But a voice doesn't have to be perfect words. Sometimes, it's just a sound. A hum. A vibration."
He turned back to the keys and pressed the Middle C—the very first note Elara had played when she uncovered the piano.
"Just hum it," Julian suggested, his voice incredibly gentle. "Don't try to sing. Don't try to form words. Just close your eyes, feel the vibration of the wood, and try to match the pitch in your chest."
Panic, cold and sharp, spiked in Elara's veins. She took a step back, shaking her head frantically. The invisible wall in her throat felt like solid brick. If she tried and failed, if she opened her mouth and nothing but dead air came out, it would break her all over again.
"Hey," Julian said, standing up and closing the distance between them. He didn't touch her, but his presence was grounding. "Look at me."
Elara forced her eyes up to meet his.
"You tamed the dragon at the bakery," he whispered, a small, encouraging smile on his lips. "You can do this. Just one breath."