Invisible Strings II

Chapter 7: Twisted Silver

Behind her, Hannah's head tilted slightly, not in confusion exactly, more like she'd nearly caught something, then lost it again. A word at the edge of understanding. She opened her mouth. Then closed it. Isadora had asked for trust when she couldn't explain. So Hannah stayed quiet.

She watched Isadora instead... the way her shoulders carried too much, the way she stood like she was guarding something invisible. And Hannah trusted her. Even when it didn't make sense.

"I... uh. I'm gonna go use the restroom," Hannah said softly.

Isadora nodded without looking away from the kettle. "Okay." Her attention stayed fixed on the coals as if she looked at Hannah again, she might say something she couldn't take back.

Hannah padded down the hall, the floorboards creaking faintly beneath her footsteps. The bathroom was dark, the window clouded over completely with frost. She turned on her phone flashlight, the small beam cutting through the cottage's shadows as she moved inside.

The cold tile startled her bare feet.

She finished quickly, heart beating a little faster than before. From the storm, from the silence, from the way Isadora had looked just before she'd turned away.

When she stepped back into the hallway, she paused.

The closet.

She hadn't meant to think about it again. Hadn't wanted to. But now it sat there, half-remembered and unexplored, like a door her body wanted before her mind did.

From the living room, she heard the kettle begin to shriek. Isadora stirred. Footsteps. The clink of metal and ceramic.

Now.

Hannah moved fast and quiet, opening the closet just enough to slip inside her hand. Her fingers closed around the box tucked in the back. The one she'd almost opened days before.

She pulled it out and sank to the floor, heart loud in her ears.

The lid resisted, like it didn't want to be disturbed. Then it gave.

Inside...

A thick envelope, stuffed to the edges. A stack of music sheets, bound by a rusted paper clip. And a journal.

Hannah's breath caught.

Not in fear.

In recognition.

Her fingers hovered over the journal's worn cover, not opening it yet, just... knowing. The weight of it felt wrong in her hands in the way truth does before it breaks something open. But for the first time, she had something real. Something that was hers. She knew this was hers.

From the kitchen, a soft sound drifted down the hall. Isadora was humming. Humming the one tune that had been haunting Hannah's mind for months.

It was low and gentle, almost lost beneath the storm and the fire, but it threaded through the cottage like something alive. Then her voice followed it.

"Hannah? Lavender or oolong?"

Hannah froze.

She swallowed, then pitched her voice a little higher, a little duller. "Oolong," she called, trying to sound like she was still in the bathroom.

"Oh... of course," Isadora replied easily to herself. "The one tea that is packed away still..." Footsteps moved away. A cupboard opened. Something rattled.

Hannah exhaled slowly. Her fingers returned to the journal.

The cover was soft. When she opened it, she knew before she saw the handwriting.