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“It sounds wonderful.”

“It is. It all is, but tucked into the northwest corner of the city, right into the side of one of the mountains, is the Artists District. That is my favorite place in the city,” Sorin replied.

“What kind of artists?” Scarlett asked, angling her head to see him better.

“Artists who paint or draw and sculpt. Artists who dance or act.Artists who write. Artists who play any and every kind of instrument. Artists of every kind,” he answered.

“Do you play the piano? Since you have one?” Scarlett asked, turning to look at the instrument in the corner.

“I know how to play the piano and can read music, but I cannot play like you do, no.”

“I… People do not usually get to see me play,” Scarlett answered softly.

“Cassius did mention that you would not be happy I saw you playing,” Sorin quipped with a small grin. “But why?”

“Playing the piano, music, it’s all so… It’s deeply personal for me. It’s more than playing music. It’s feeling it. It’s feeling every note, every chord, every dynamic in my soul. It’s a way to express myself when words just aren’t enough,” Scarlett said, staring into the fire.

“How did you learn to play?”

“When I was eight, my mother and the Assassin Lord took me, my sisters, and Cassius to a show in the Theater District,” Scarlett said. “It was my first real experience with music. There were many musicians there, but when the pianist took the stage, I was mesmerized. The Assassin Lord is very wealthy and had box seats for us, and I remember standing from my seat as she played. I can still hear my mother quietly calling my name, but I walked to the edge of the box and gripped the gold railing along the top. The song was a ballad and was… I had tears on my cheeks when she finished.

“The next evening, my mother told me over dinner that she had gone to the Theater District that afternoon and had found someone to teach me how to play the piano and so I began lessons. I would practice for hours either at the compound or the Fellowship. My sole goal was to be able to play that ballad. After my mother died, I was— I couldn’t continue my lessons, but I continued to practice and teach myself. A little over a year after my mother had passed, the Assassin Lord gave me the sheet music to that ballad. I worked on mastering it for nearly three years, and the first time I played it through flawlessly, I sobbed into my hands,” Scarlett finished.

“Play it for me,” Sorin said gently.

She gave him a pointed look. “It’s the middle of the night. I’d wake the whole building.”

He gave her a wry grin and snapped his fingers. She could somehow feel an invisible shield of heat around the room. “Now they will hear nothing,” he said simply.

“Show off,” she muttered under her breath.

Sorin laughed, and that arm he had casually draped along the sofa came to her shoulders, pulling her gently to his side. She stiffened slightly, looking up at him, but he only whispered to her, “Go play, Scarlett.”

“I do not play for others,” she replied, her eyes falling to her lap.

“I have already heard you play,” he argued.

“But I was not…in the right frame of mind that night,” Scarlett said, lifting her eyes back to his. “I have only ever played in front of Cassius and my sisters.”

“Not Callan?”

Scarlett shook her head. “No, not for Callan.”

“Why?”

“So many questions tonight, General,” Scarlett said, trying to muster a grin, but failing.

Sorin merely reached over and tucked her hair behind her ear, his fingers sliding along her jaw. “I am just trying to figure you out, Scarlett Monrhoe,” he said, giving her the small smile she had tried to muster.

“Why?” she asked with a harsh laugh. “I am a mess of sorrow and rage and secrets. Even I stopped trying to figure myself out.”

“Because sometimes we just need someone to sit with us in the darkness in the middle of the mess,” Sorin replied.

Scarlett studied his face then, searching those golden eyes. He meant it. He meant those words. He didn’t want to fix things for her. Maybe he didn’t even necessarily want to figure her out, but he would sit with her, here in the darkness that had filled her heart, her soul. She leaned forward and brushed a kiss to his lips, barely touching them with her own. “I gave much of myself to Callan,” she whispered, “but he doesn’t understand that sometimes the darkness is more comforting than the light.When I play, it comes from the part of me that grew in the darkness. Callan is all light. There is no room for my darkness.”

“You are not all darkness,” Sorin said softly.

“Sometimes I do not think that is true,” she answered, turning away from him, but his fingers gently gripped her chin, bringing her eyes back to his.