Chapter 3 - THE BOY IN THE EMPTY STUDIOThe humming continued.
Soft.
Almost beautiful.
But there was something wrong with it.
The melody was incomplete.
It stopped before the final note.
Then began again.
The same four notes.
Over and over.
Lila stood frozen in the darkness.
She could hear Elise breathing beside her.
“Don’t move,” Elise whispered.
Lila could barely hear her over the sound of the melody.
The humming was coming from the corridor.
Or perhaps from somewhere inside the walls.
Lila looked down at the piece of paper in her hand.
SHE WAS NEVER DEAD, LILA.
Her fingers tightened around it.
“Who is she?” Lila whispered.
Elise said nothing.
The humming stopped.
The silence that followed was worse.
Then came another sound.
A soft scrape.
Something dragged across the floor outside.
Lila's eyes adjusted to the darkness.
The door handle moved.
Once.
Twice.
Elise grabbed her hand.
“Stay behind me.”
The handle stopped.
For a few seconds, nothing happened.
Then someone whispered from the other side.
“Lila.”
Her entire body went cold.
The voice was female.
Soft.
Almost familiar.
Lila looked at Elise.
Elise's face had lost all color.
“Who is that?”
Elise shook her head.
The voice came again.
“Lila.”
This time, it sounded closer.
Lila stepped toward the door.
Elise pulled her back.
“No.”
“But she knows my name.”
“That is exactly why you must not open the door.”
The voice became louder.
“Lila, your mother lied to you.”
Lila stopped breathing.
Elise moved toward the door.
“Go away!”
There was a long silence.
Then the woman laughed.
It was not a cruel laugh.
It was a sad one.
“Still protecting her?”
Elise froze.
The woman continued.
“Even now?”
Elise's hand began to shake.
Lila stared at her.
“You know her.”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
The woman outside laughed again.
“Elise.”
Lila looked at Elise.
The name had been spoken with such familiarity.
Not like a stranger.
Like someone who had known her for years.
“Who is she?”
Elise said nothing.
“Tell me!”
The door suddenly shook violently.
Lila screamed.
Elise pushed her toward the back wall.
The old shelves rattled.
A stack of photographs fell to the floor.
Then everything stopped.
The humming returned.
But now it came from somewhere else.
Above them.
Lila slowly looked up.
The ceiling.
The sound was coming from inside the ceiling.
Then a small object fell through a crack in the plaster.
It landed on the floor.
A silver hairpin.
Lila stared at it.
She knew that hairpin.
She had seen it in old photographs of her mother.
Celeste had worn it during her final performance.
The night she disappeared.
Lila bent down and picked it up.
There was a small inscription on the back.
C.A.
Celeste Arden.
But something was wrapped around it.
A narrow strip of red fabric.
Lila pulled it loose.
The moment she touched it, Elise whispered:
“No.”
“What?”
“That fabric.”
“What about it?”
Elise stared at the red strip.
“I saw it that night.”
Lila's stomach tightened.
“Where?”
“On the person who attacked your mother.”
Lila looked at the fabric.
“Who was wearing it?”
Elise did not answer.
“Who?”
“I couldn’t see her face.”
“But you saw the fabric.”
“Yes.”
“Was it Anya?”
Elise closed her eyes.
“I don’t know.”
Lila looked toward the ceiling.
“Then someone has been inside the walls.”
Elise did not deny it.
For the first time, Lila understood something.
The woman outside the archive room had not entered through the door.
She had been somewhere inside the theater.
Watching.
Listening.
Waiting.
The lights suddenly returned.
The archive was empty.
The door remained locked.
No one was standing outside.
Lila opened it.
The corridor was deserted.
But on the floor, directly in front of the door, were wet footprints.
Bare feet.
Small.
A woman's size.
They continued down the hallway.
Toward Studio Seven.
Lila followed them.
“Lila, no.”
She kept walking.
“Lila!”
She stopped.
Elise caught up with her.
“You cannot go there.”
“You said the same thing before.”
“And I meant it.”
“Then tell me the truth.”
Elise stared at her.
“What truth?”
“Everything.”
“I don’t know everything.”
“Then tell me what you know.”
Elise looked at the footprints.
“Your mother believed someone had been hiding beneath the theater.”
“Anya.”
“Maybe.”
“You saw her body.”
“I saw someone.”
Lila frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“The theater was under construction at the time. There were tunnels beneath the old stage.”
“And?”
“And one night, I followed your mother.”
“Where?”
“Below Studio Seven.”
“Why?”
“She told me she had found something.”
“What?”
“I never found out.”
Lila stared at her.
“You went down there.”
“Yes.”
“And you saw Anya?”
“I saw a girl.”
“Was she dead?”
Elise's face tightened.
“I thought she was.”
“You thought?”
“It was dark.”
“You just said you saw her body.”
“I saw a body.”
“Was it Anya?”
“I don’t know.”
Lila took a step toward her.
“Then how did you know her name?”
Elise looked away.
“Your mother told me.”
“Before or after?”
Elise did not answer.
“Before or after you saw the body?”
“Before.”
Lila felt a chill.
“So you knew Anya was alive before you saw the body.”
“Yes.”
“Then how could you think the body was hers?”
“I was told it was.”
“By who?”
Elise remained silent.
Lila's voice dropped.
“Victor?”
Elise shook her head.
“Then who?”
Elise looked toward Studio Seven.
“The person who owned the theater.”
Lila stared at her.
“What?”
“Before the Arden Company, before Victor, before your mother—this theater belonged to another family.”
“Which family?”
Elise hesitated.
Then she said:
“Bellamy.”
Lila had heard the name.
Everyone in the theater world had.
The Bellamy family had once controlled the most powerful dance institutions in the country.
But they had disappeared from the industry decades ago.
“Why?”
“A scandal.”
“What kind?”
Elise looked at her.
“Their daughter disappeared.”
Lila felt her blood run cold.
“Anya Bellamy?”
Elise nodded.
The footprints continued toward the studio.
Lila looked at the old doors.
They were locked.
But the lock was broken.
Someone had forced it open.
Elise grabbed Lila's shoulder.
“We leave now.”
Lila did not move.
“Why is the door open?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who broke the lock?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why are you afraid of this room?”
Elise looked at the darkness beyond the door.
“Because I have been here before.”
“When?”
“The night your mother disappeared.”
Lila stepped inside.
Studio Seven smelled of dust and old wood.
The mirrors had been removed years ago.
Only rectangular marks remained on the walls.
The floor was scratched.
Several boards had been replaced.
At the far end of the room was an old piano.
Lila walked toward it.
The piano was covered with a white cloth.
She pulled it away.
The keys were yellow with age.
One key was pressed down.
A single note echoed through the room.
Lila jumped.
Elise stared at the piano.
“No one has touched this in years.”
Lila slowly looked at the keys.
There were fingerprints in the dust.
Fresh fingerprints.
Small.
Someone had been sitting there.
Recently.
Lila walked around the piano.
Behind it, she saw something carved into the floor.
A crescent moon.
The same symbol as her mother's pendant.
She knelt.
There was a narrow gap between two wooden boards.
Lila pulled out the silver key.
Elise suddenly grabbed her wrist.
“Stop.”
“Why?”
“Because your mother hid that key for a reason.”
“Exactly.”
“Lila, listen to me.”
“No.”
She pushed the key into the gap.
It fit perfectly.
A mechanism clicked beneath the floor.
Then the wooden boards shifted.
A hidden panel opened.
Cold air rose from beneath them.
The smell was old.
Damp.
Metallic.
Lila looked down.
A narrow staircase descended into darkness.
Elise stood completely still.
Lila turned toward her.
“You said nobody ever came back.”
Elise did not answer.
“Was that a lie?”
“No.”
“Who went down there?”
Elise's eyes filled with tears.
“Your mother.”
“And?”
“I followed her.”
“And?”
Elise whispered:
“I never saw her come back.”
Lila stared at the staircase.
“Then how did she survive?”
Elise looked at her.
“That is what I have spent twenty-seven years trying to understand.”
Lila stepped onto the first stair.
Elise grabbed her.
“Don’t.”
Lila looked back.
“What happened to my mother down there?”
Elise's hand slowly released her.
“I don’t know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it is the truth.”
Lila descended.
The staircase creaked beneath her.
One step.
Two.
Three.
The darkness swallowed the theater above.
Elise followed.
The air became colder.
At the bottom was a narrow corridor.
The walls were made of old stone.
There were scratches everywhere.
Some looked like marks from tools.
Others looked like fingernails.
Lila stopped.
“What happened here?”
Elise did not answer.
A door stood at the end of the corridor.
It was painted red.
The paint had faded.
But the color was unmistakable.
Red.
Like the fabric found around Celeste's hairpin.
Lila approached it.
On the door was a small inscription.
ONLY THE DANCER WHO KNOWS THE END MAY ENTER.
Lila looked at Elise.
“What does that mean?”
Elise stared at the door.
“I don’t know.”
Lila placed her hand on the handle.
The door opened by itself.
Inside was a room.
Small.
Empty.
Except for one chair.
And a music box.
The music box was playing.
The same incomplete melody.
Lila stepped inside.
The music stopped.
On the chair sat a boy.
He was perhaps twelve years old.
He wore a dark sweater.
His hair was messy.
His bare feet were covered in dust.
He was staring at Lila.
Elise stopped behind her.
The boy said nothing.
Lila stared at him.
“Who are you?”
The boy tilted his head.
Then he stood.
Without saying a word, he moved to the center of the room.
And began to dance.
Lila's heart stopped.
The movements were impossible.
A turn.
A step.
A pause.
Then the raised hand.
The final movement.
But the boy did not stop.
He completed it.
The final turn.
The final gesture.
The movement Celeste had told Lila never to finish.
Lila whispered:
“Where did you learn that?”
The boy looked at her.
Then answered:
“From my mother.”
Lila could barely breathe.
“Who is your mother?”
The boy pointed toward the wall.
There was a photograph hanging there.
Lila approached it.
The image was old.
A young woman stood beside a piano.
She had dark hair.
Sharp eyes.
And a crescent moon pendant around her neck.
Lila stared at the photograph.
She knew that face.
Not from the theater.
Not from her mother's notebooks.
From a photograph she had seen only minutes earlier.
The fourth person.
The one who was never invited.
The name written beneath the photograph was:
ANYA BELLAMY.
Lila turned toward the boy.
“Who are you?”
The boy's expression did not change.
“My name is Noah.”
“Where is your mother?”
He looked toward the dark corner of the room.
Then whispered:
“She is still here.”
Lila's body went cold.
Elise stepped forward.
“Noah.”
The boy looked at her.
For the first time, his face changed.
He smiled.
“You came back.”
Elise froze.
Lila looked between them.
“You know him?”
Elise said nothing.
Noah continued:
“She told me you would come.”
“Who?”
The boy looked at Lila.
“Your mother.”
Lila stopped breathing.
Then Noah reached into his pocket.
He pulled out a folded piece of paper.
And handed it to her.
Lila opened it.
The handwriting was Celeste's.
The message contained only one sentence.
LILA, IF YOU FIND NOAH, DO NOT TRUST ELISE.
Lila slowly raised her eyes.
Elise was standing behind her.
May you like
And for the first time in her life—
Lila was afraid of the woman who had raised her.
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