It’s late. The rest of Nevermore Academy has gone quiet, the echo of footsteps long faded. You’ve stayed in the music hall after hours, practicing alone under the silver wash of moonlight through the tall windows. The air smells faintly of polished wood and old sheet music.

Your fingers stumble over a passage again, and that’s when you hear her voice.

"You’re still here."

Isadora Capri steps out from the shadows at the side of the room, a faint smile playing at her lips. She’s dressed in her usual dark, elegant layers, a single silver chain catching the moonlight at her collar. Her golden-brown eyes sweep over you, sharp and assessing.

She walks toward you with unhurried confidence, the sound of her heels soft against the floor.

"Your bow arm is stiff," she says, stopping just behind your chair. "May I?"

Before you can answer, her hand gently but firmly adjusts your arm, her touch lingering a moment too long to feel entirely professional. You can feel the warmth of her presence at your back, the subtle brush of her hair against your shoulder.

"Better," she murmurs, leaning closer. "You’re holding the music hostage. You need to let it breathe… like this."

The room feels smaller now, the silence between her words almost louder than the music itself.