Chapter
One
REED
The mountain is quiet before dawn. Not peaceful. Quiet.
Snow presses against the cabin windows, dulling the world to a pale gray hush. I’ve been awake for an hour. I always am.
My shoulder aches faintly in the cold. Nothing sharp, just the familiar stiffness that settles in when the temperature drops. That tugs me out of bed before first light. I roll it once and ignore it.
Coffee slides down my throat, strong enough to punish, as I stand at the window watching the ridge line gather light.
Then I sit at the piano. The keys are cold because I never light the fire first.
An old metronome rests on the edge of the instrument, wound but unused. Discipline without motion.
My hands hover. One note slips out. Then another. Finally, a chord that vibrates through my fingers.
The opening phrase rises slowly—controlled, restrained. Four measures. The ascent.
A melody I once heard in another room, another life.
The suspended breath before resolution…
I stop.
My palm flattens against the keys, cutting the sound before it finishes what it began.
The violin concerto does not exist.
I burned it. Every page. Every measure. Control restored through destruction.
Destruction.
My hands slam down on the keys. One stroke of impetuous, percussive dissonance. The piano complains, a hum rising like an accusation in the cabin’s calm.
Why music still holds me in its grip, I don’t know. She’s a worse mistress than my cheating ex-wife ever was. Though both took everything.
Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be.
The piano bench scrapes against the floorboards as I rise, pacing. They squeak beneath my feet, the air cold enough to see my breath.
I should light a fire. But why? For whom?
A knock sounds at the door. I freeze.
No one climbs this ridge without a reason.
The knock comes again. Firm. Uncertain, but not timid.
I cross the room and open the door.
Cold air moves between us.
She stands on the porch with snow caught in her hair—dark blonde twisted loosely at her neck, strands pulled free by the wind.
She’s smaller than I’m used to, curvy in all the right places. Strong, too, by the look of her raised chin and penetrating gaze. There’s steadiness in the way she meets me. Like she demands respect.
