When he turned back, Lila was watching him. Not openly. She never did anything openly. But she had seen. She understood what he had seen. The faint tightening around her eyes told him she understood Fenwick as well, and that she knew he did too.
She returned her attention to Henry at once. Still, something in her posture had changed. Her back straightened. A defensive stillness settled in. The guarded lift of her chin.
A woman accustomed to weighing risks.
“Good,” she said softly. “Now the left hand alone.”
Henry obeyed, his small fingers pressing uncertain notes.
Marcus forced himself to loosen his grip on his knees.
Henry stumbled once. Tried again. Found the phrase on the third attempt. When he finished, Lila praised him with quiet sincerity.
“That was steady,” she said. “Shall we put both hands together?”
Henry hesitated. “I don’t know if I can.”
“You do not have to,” she said. Patient. Firm. “But if you wish to try, I will help you.”
Henry swallowed, then nodded.
Lila shifted on the bench, her hands hovering above his. Ready to catch him if he faltered. Ready to let him succeed if he could.
“Whenever you are ready,” she murmured.
Henry began. He stumbled. Caught himself. Completed the measure with a small, breathless triumph that made his whole body go still.
“I did it,” he whispered.
“Yes,” she said. “You did.”
His smile burst bright and sudden, lighting his whole face.
Marcus felt his chest tighten again. Painful. Beautiful.
Henry turned to him, eyes shining. “Papa, did you hear?”
“I did,” Marcus said quietly. “Every note.”
Henry glowed.
They worked another quarter hour before Lila lowered her hands.
“That is enough for today,” she said gently. “Your fingers will grow tired. Tired fingers forget what they have learned.”
Henry hopped off the bench, the hop of a child who was beginning to feel safe.
Lila stood as well. Marcus rose without thinking.
“Thank you,” he said.
She dipped her head. Respectful. Restrained. “He did very well.”
“He did,” Marcus agreed. “But that is your doing.”
Her eyes flicked up. Startled by the praise, or resisting it.
“I only open the door,” she said. “He is the one who chooses to walk through.”