Fourth period was lunch.
Technically. For Elias, it was escape.
He wove through the cafeteria crowd without touching the food line, walked past the quad without slowing, and turned down a side hallway with a cracked tile floor and humming fluorescent lights. It was the old wing — mostly used for storage and clubs nobody remembered to shut down.
At the far end, behind a pair of faded blue double doors, sat the unused music room.
It smelled faintly of wood polish, dust, and something nostalgic — like orchestra camp and forgotten dreams.
The instruments were mostly locked away. But the upright piano in the corner stood uncovered, untouched, and wildly out of tune. Elias stepped over a broken music stand and dropped his bag silently onto a chair.
He didn't need to be here.
He needed to hear himself.
Elias sat, cracked his knuckles softly, and let his fingers find the keys.
The sound was soft. Slightly warped. But familiar.
The melody began slow — a minor key lullaby that shifted like clouds across a gray sky. Simple chords at first. Then something more intricate, threading sadness through beauty in a way that made your chest tighten without knowing why.
He let the music guide him, not thinking — just remembering.
Then, slowly, he added voice.
Not words. Just tone.
A quiet hum at first, so soft the keys barely noticed.
Then rising.
His voice was… unearthly.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just pure. Clean as wind on a winter morning. The kind of sound that makes conversation stop mid-sentence. That presses pause on breath. That wraps around your thoughts and won't let go.
He didn't notice the door creak open.
He didn't hear the footsteps.
Until he did.
A gasp — too quiet to be fake — snapped his head around.
Alex Dunphy stood just inside the doorway, eyes wide, hand still gripping the door.
Elias's fingers froze above the keys.
They locked eyes.
No one spoke.
The air was still humming with the final note.
Alex looked like she'd been dropped into a world she didn't understand. Like she'd wandered into someone's diary and realized halfway through she shouldn't be reading it — but couldn't stop.
Elias's mouth twitched once. A sigh escaped — sharp and irritated.
Then, with perfect calm, he stood up, walked past her slowly, and said:
"Don't worry. It wasn't real."
She turned toward him, lips parted slightly — but he didn't look back.
He kept walking.
Down the hallway, past the humming lights, and into silence.