The late afternoon air was soft, gilded in amber as the car rolled into the terminal. Having arrived at the airport, Shanna and Levine exchanged quiet words before bidding each other a heartfelt farewell. The doors shut with a subdued click, and the vehicle eased back into the flow of city traffic, leaving behind the echo of parting.
Inside the car, the empty seat beside Levine cast a hollow stillness. She drove, her gaze steady on the road, the silence pressing gently into her thoughts. Music could have filled the void, offered some relief—but she didn't turn it on. Instead, she leaned against the seat and whispered to herself, "I wish it were this quiet at home."
The car pulled over near a stretch of unspoiled greenery, the fading light of dusk painting everything beneath it in brilliant shades of crimson and gold. Levine stepped out, the wind tugging gently at her coat. She stood there, arms loosely crossed, eyes tracing the vast horizon.
Red.
The color bled into her memories.
Sounds of gunshots. Distant cries. Smoke curling against the sky like tendrils of grief.
She exhaled slowly, a hand rising to her temple. The dull ache of a headache pulsed behind her eyes, pulling her back from the edges of those old, smoldering thoughts.
"Thinking won't change anything," she murmured. "It's been so long... and still no answers."
Slipping back inside the car, Levine picked up her phone. The screen lit up, revealing several missed calls from her nanny.
I'm sorry for not picking up. I've been quite busy. But rest assured, I'm fine. I'm on my way home. We'll talk then, Nana. She responded with a message.
After dropping off Shanna's car at the boutique, Levine slid behind the wheel of her own and drove herself home.
The journey through Vineyard Estates was quiet. The sky had deepened into an inky blue, stars shyly peeking through the twilight. As the gates opened to welcome her, soft lights lined the curved driveway up to the manor.
She parked in the garage, stepped out, and was instantly met by the familiar warmth of her nanny's smile.
"Nana," Levine greeted gently, arms open.
The older woman didn't hesitate, pulling her into a motherly embrace.
"Didn't I tell you I was fine?" Levine said, a soft chuckle in her voice.
"And yet, you didn't come home last night," Nana scolded, her worry thinly veiled behind a tone of feigned sternness. "I was worried sick. Someone from the company said you clocked out, but I didn't hear from you. That witch inside didn't say a word either. Fortunately, Shanna called—though I doubt she told the truth. Did she?"
Levine smiled, her eyes carrying the weight of quiet exhaustion. "I'm tired, and I know you must be too. Let's rest for now?"
Nana sighed, brushing a few strands of hair away from Levine's cheek. "Aye... You always find a way to wriggle out of trouble. But you're right. Let's get inside before we catch a cold out here. Have you eaten?"
"I already d—" Her stomach betrayed her with a loud growl.
"Ha! Lying to this old woman, are you? Aigoo. Don't worry about the two, they've retired for the night. Go straight to your room. I'll have your dinner sent up. Take your medicine, alright?"
Levine touched her hand. "Thank you, Nana. I wouldn't be here without you and Dad."
"This child," Nana said with a sigh, gently nudging her toward the stairs. "Go. And take a shower while you're at it."
Levine obeyed with a small smile, ascending the staircase slowly, her body aching for rest but her mind wide awake.
---
Steam curled in gentle swirls in the bathroom as Levine stepped out of the shower. She wrapped herself in a soft robe, towel-dried her hair, and padded across the room to open the door for Lily, the young helper who had brought her meal.
"Miss Levine," Lily said shyly, "please call for me if you need anything. I'll be just outside."
"Thank you, Lily. I appreciate it."
Lily smiled and left quietly. Levine sat down, finished her meal in silence, and swallowed her medicine with a frown. Her routine felt monotonous—it had been this way ever since that accident.
When the table was cleared and her robe replaced with a soft cotton nightgown, she crossed to her bedside drawer, stopping at the bottom and pulling it open.
Inside was an elongated box. Opening it revealed layers of velvet cloth, within which rested two objects: an elegant jade hairpin, and a slender, pale green flute.
She picked up the flute with reverent care, her fingers brushing its cool surface, feeling the tiny initials carved into it. A white jade pendant hung from its end.
It was her mother's gift.
She stepped onto the balcony. The moon hung heavy and luminous, bathing the estate in silver light. Trees swayed gently, and somewhere in the distance, the soft murmur of crickets whispered against the quiet.
Raising the flute to her lips, Levine began to play.
The melody began slow, soft—like a lullaby whispered by the wind. It was a piece her mother had taught her long ago. The tune held within it the essence of her mother's embrace, the warmth of childhood, the scent of spring meadows and peonies.
But as memories crept in, the tune began to shift.
Notes deepened. The air seemed to still.
The music became a vessel, a diary without words—calm when memories were kind, intense and urgent when shadows rose from the past. Joy and sorrow danced in harmony, yin and yang wrapped around each other in haunting balance.
It was a symphony of her life—loss, longing, the ache of a mystery unsolved.
The music stretched into the hours, winding around the corners of the house, wrapping her in a cocoon of solitude.
From somewhere inside the estate, Nana paused in her work, listening. The music brought tears to her eyes.
Elsewhere, beyond the city, a man sat comfortably on a black leather couch, his figure still and contemplative. Moonlight poured in through the towering glass wall, outlining his silhouette in silver. The pale glow etched the sharp lines of his profile, casting long shadows that stretched across the polished floor.
The quiet luxury of the Blackwood Residence enveloped him, but his thoughts were far from still. The image of a woman lingering in his mind like a forgotten dream. His fingers tightened around a pendant—carved with a mysterious emblem—resting in his palm.
His eyes were somber as he slid deep in thought.
Unseen threads were pulling tight.
--
Meanwhile, back at Su Manor, a man in his fifties knocked gently on Levine's door. When no response came, he exchanged a glance with the nanny before they quietly stepped inside. The room was still and empty, Levine was nowhere in sight. The soft rustling of curtains drawn by the wind led them to the open sliding doors that led out to the balcony.
There, nestled in the swing, they found her fast asleep.
"Goodness, this child!" the nanny whispered, worry etched across her face as she gently draped a mantle over Levine's resting form.
Her father sighed, a note of concern in his voice. "It seems her insomnia hasn't gotten any better."
With quiet care, he lifted her into his arms and carried her back to bed.