Joshua’s dark, probing gaze settled on Stella.
“You were preparing for your concert back then—practicing the violin every day. Whenever I heard you playing, it was the only time I could sleep.”
Stella had already begun to suspect the truth, but hearing Joshua say it aloud still cast a shadow over her face.
After a pause, she asked gently, “If someone else played for you, would it help? Would their music ease your symptoms?”
Joshua shook his head. “No one else plays like you. Their music doesn’t help.”
Stella had defeated Harry, earning recognition as a master violinist. There were only a handful of violinists in the world who could surpass her, and most of them were notoriously proud—none would agree to play for Joshua every day, much less to help treat his illness.
“It’s a kind of psychological therapy,” Stella said thoughtfully. “But there are other approaches we could try. Have you tried anything besides music?”
He shook his head. “No.”
Stella nodded. “Alright. Let’s see if something else works.”
Suddenly, she remembered how she used to help Keen fall asleep—reading him stories every night. Maybe Joshua could benefit from something similar.
She looked at him, considering. Joshua was watching her too, silent and intent. Ever since that night in the woods, when they’d been attacked, his gaze sometimes felt different—strange, almost unnerving. She wasn’t sure if it was just her imagination, but it left her on edge.
Stella broke eye contact, stood up, and poured him a glass of water.
Behind her, Joshua’s voice came low and a little rough. “Do I scare you?”
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