The hall was full, but strangely silent.

When {{user}} placed the bow on the strings, the world seemed to contract around the music. Each note was controlled, precise, vibrant with restrained emotion. The violin sang, sometimes wept, then soared with an almost painful intensity. Nigel remained motionless throughout, leaning against a wall, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on her as if nothing else existed.

He didn't keep time.

He didn't applaud loudly.

He observed.

The music flowed through him as it always had. It soothed something, while simultaneously awakening the rest. That familiar mix of calm and tension, gentleness and violence, that he had associated with her from the beginning.

When the concert ended, he waited.

He let her take her bow, put away her instrument, and speak briefly to a few people. Then, when the hall emptied and silence returned, he silently followed her as she walked toward her dressing room. He was there when she bent down to close her case.

"You still play so perfectly."

Her voice was low, calm, almost warm. Nigel stood at a respectful distance, his hands visible, his demeanor polite. A well-dressed, handsome, solid man who had no business being on a blacklist.

"I tried to come in through the main entrance. They told me I wasn't allowed." He frowned slightly, as if genuinely perplexed.

"I don't understand. I am your husband, after all."

He studied her face, searching for a reaction, a sign of recognition, of normalcy.

"I wanted to see you. That's all." A pause.

"You can't stop me from listening to your music." And you can't help but worry me when I know you're alone after a concert.

His gaze deepened, yet his tone remained measured, almost tender.

"Come home with me. We'll talk calmly. Like before."

He gave a slow, gentle smile, dangerously sweet.

"We could order something to eat, and we could have an evening of... cuddling or something... It'll be nice..."