And for the first time all night, I had no way to move it forward.
Chapter Twenty-Five: Recognition
Kitty
The silence stretched longer than it should have.
I stood in front of the stage, one hand still wrapped around the microphone stand, my chest tight as the cold air burned its way into my lungs. The crowd shifted restlessly, boots scraping against packed snow, a low murmur of confusion rippling through the square.
I swallowed and tried again.
Nothing. Not even a rasp.
The realization hit all at once, sharp and undeniable. My voice was gone. Completely gone.
Heat flooded my face as panic surged, fast and humiliating. I lifted my free hand instinctively, as if I could wave the sound back into existence, but the gesture felt useless the moment I made it.
Behind the judges’ table, Great Aunt Cathy straightened, her expression sharpening with something that looked uncomfortably like opportunity.
I could already see it unfolding. Someone else was going to have to step in. Someone who didn’t lose their voice at the worst possible moment.
I took a step back, my boots crunching softly against the snow, my clipboard slipping slightly in my grip. I hadn’t even realized my hands were shaking until I noticed how hard it was to hold onto it.
This was it, then. The moment I had been bracing for all night. The proof that I had taken on too much, that I wasn’t cut out for this, that I had finally let everyone down in public.
Before Great Aunt Cathy could rise from her seat, Caleb moved.
He didn’t hurry. He didn’t make a show of it. He simply crossed the few steps from the sound board to the microphone, calm and steady, as if this had always been part of the plan.
The crowd quieted instinctively.
He adjusted the microphone height once, briefly, then looked out over the square. The stage lights caught the edge of his scarf, his expression composed but intent.
“We’re going to take a short intermission,” he said, voice even and clear. “About fifteen minutes.”
A ripple of understanding moved through the audience, followed by scattered applause.
“Feel free to stretch, grab some air, and come back when the lights come up again,” he continued. “We’ll pick right back up where we left off.”
It was simple and exactly what needed to be said.
He didn’t explain or apologize. He didn’t draw attention to me at all.
And somehow, that made it worse and better at the same time.
As people stood and began to move, the pressure in my chest loosened just enough for me to breathe again. I stepped farther back from the stage, my legs feeling oddly unsteady beneath me now that the adrenaline from the night had nowhere to go.
Lydia appeared at my side almost immediately, looping an arm through mine.
“You’re freezing,” she said, already tugging her own scarf loose and wrapping it around my neck.
I really didn’t need two scarves, but I had no way of telling her.
Jane pressed a cup of warm water into my hands. Lucy hovered, eyes sharp and assessing, while Meri stood close enough that our shoulders brushed.
No one said anything about my voice. No one looked disappointed.
That alone made my throat ache worse.
