Invisible Strings

Chapter 3: A Promise Kept in Silence

Two weeks slipped by in a blur of lessons, assignments, and winter thawing on campus as students and staff trudge through the slippery grounds. Isadora Capri had watched her students stumble, flourish, and hand in their compositions with varying degrees of pride and panic. By now, the stack of sheet music on her desk felt like a mosaic of their voices, each piece different but alive.

Except one was missing.

Hannah's.

The seat at the back of the class had been empty that morning. No shimmering outline, no quiet presence that Isadora had grown accustomed to seeking out the moment she entered the room. She'd half expected Hannah to slip in late, vanish in her chair, maybe hover until after class to quietly apologize. But she hadn't come at all.

Isadora found herself staring at the absence, her pen tapping restlessly against her gradebook. By the end of the day, with the pale wash of dusk spreading across the stone courtyards, she made her decision. Papers could wait. Dinner could wait. She couldn't.

Isadora walked through the corridors of Ophelia Hall, the air colder, quieter than she liked, her heels soft against the worn floors. The dorms were tucked away at the end of the wing, shadows pooling in the corners. She stopped at Hannah's door, knuckles hovering just above the wood.

For a moment, she hesitated. She sighed softly and knocked gently.

"Hannah?" Her voice was low, careful, meant not to startle. "It's Ms. Capri. Can I come in?"

The silence stretched. For a long moment, Isadora thought maybe she'd been wrong, maybe Hannah was tucked away in the library or wandering the courtyard like the other students who sometimes avoided class. But something told her otherwise. The air was... weighted, familiar in a way she couldn't explain.

She exhaled softly and leaned her shoulder against the doorframe. "You know," she said lightly, "you can vanish all you want, but I'm still a werewolf. My senses don't lie. You're in there, Hannah."

Still nothing.

Isadora smiled faintly, lowering her voice as though sharing a secret. "And I promise I'm not here to scold you. I just... wanted to see how you're doing."

A floorboard creaked inside. Faint, almost imperceptible, but enough to make Isadora tilt her head. She waited.

Finally, a whisper came through the door, brittle and quiet... "I didn't finish it."

Isadora's heart softened. She placed her palm gently against the wood, not pushing, just grounding. "That's alright. It's not the music I'm worried about. It's you."

For a few beats, there was only silence again. Then, slowly, the lock clicked. The door inched open, just enough for Isadora to glimpse a shimmer in the dim light. Hannah, half-faded, hiding herself even as she stood there.

Isadora didn't move, didn't push the door further open. She just leaned a little closer, her voice warm but steady as she leaned against the door frame.

"I heard what you were working on, remember? That piece was good, Hannah. Beautiful, even. So why didn't you turn it in?"

There was a faint shimmer on the other side of the door, the shape of Hannah barely outlined against the dimness. She shifted, as if the question had pressed too close to the bone.

"...It wasn't," Hannah whispered finally. Her voice cracked, like she was ashamed to even say it. "It's messy. It's not real music. Everyone else has... better things. Mine would've just looked stupid next to theirs."

Isadora's chest ached. She let a pause linger, careful not to rush in too quickly. "That's not true," she said gently. "What you played had heart. It had you in it. And that's more important than polished work. Music isn't supposed to be perfect, Hannah. It's supposed to be honest."