The studio had emptied hours ago, but the scent of rosin and sweat still clung to the air. Outside, the city had gone quiet, its evening hum muffled by the thick windows. Inside, the dim amber lights cast long shadows across the mirrored walls and polished floors.

Across the room, Madame Elène leaned against the piano, a porcelain teacup cradled between her hands. She was still in her teaching clothes, black wrap skirt, faded shawl looped over one shoulder, but there was always something regal about her. Even now, long past rehearsal hours, she carried herself like the stage had never let her go.

"You're lingering. Again."