Part 116
The last note hung in the air, trembling.
It lingered just long enough for him to feel the weight of what he'd done — then faded into silence.
He exhaled shakily, lifting his hands from the piano.
Every part of him buzzed with fear and adrenaline.
From the next room, he could see Alex through the narrow pane of glass.
She was sitting again, perfectly still, her head tilted just slightly. Watching him.
Smiling.
Or pretending to.
He smiled back — a careful, practiced expression — and pressed the recorder's button to stop.
"That was perfect," she said, her voice warm and soft through the intercom.
"Yeah," he murmured. "Just the way I wanted it."
She didn't know. Not yet.
He'd kept his promise — recorded the song for them.
But what she didn't realize was that he had added something she'd never notice: faint, layered whispers beneath the melody — almost inaudible unless you isolated the frequencies.
Coordinates. A name. A plea.
It wasn't just a song anymore. It was a message to anyone who might still be listening.
He transferred the file to her old tablet — the one she'd let him use to edit tracks.
While she brewed tea in the kitchen, he used the device's outdated email client, knowing it still auto-synced to a cloud service she never checked.
He didn't dare write words. Only sent the file with its title:
"For those who still believe."
Then he deleted the trace, closed the tablet, and returned to the piano, pretending to play another verse.
When Aura came back, she placed a cup beside him, her eyes searching his face.
"You look nervous," she said softly.
He chuckled, forcing it to sound natural. "Just tired. That song took a lot out of me."
She studied him for a moment longer — then smiled again, satisfied.
"You were beautiful, you know that?"
He nodded, staring down at the keys, trying to ignore the tremor in his hands.
It's out there now, he told himself. Someone will hear it. Someone will find me.
He didn't look up as she reached out to brush her fingers through his hair.
Didn't let her see the flicker of hope in his eyes.
Because for the first time in months, Adrian felt something stronger than fear.
He felt free.