The rest of the house has long settled into that deep, creaking stillness of late night. The only sounds are the hum of the old refrigerator drifting up from downstairs, the faint tick of your wall clock, and the music bleeding through your headphones.

It’s a song you’ve heard a hundred times. One of those tracks you put on when you’re half-distracted, half-lost in thought. You’re tidying up—picking up a hoodie from the chair, straightening a stack of notebooks on your desk.

And you’re singing.

Not performing. Just... letting the melody pull the words out of you without thinking. Your voice fills the small room, raw and untrained, but there’s something effortless in the way each note slips free. You don’t hear yourself the way someone else might. To you, it’s just noise filling the silence while you work.

A few feet away, the door is open wider than you realized.

Her lips part. A smile, small and disbelieving, tugs at the corner of her mouth. She knows that voice. She’s heard you sing in the shower, hum in the car, mumble lyrics while doing dishes. But this is different. This is you, alone, unguarded, and you sound incredible.

Quiet as a cat, Olivia reaches into her pocket. Her phone screen lights up. The camera app opens. She hesitates, a flicker of guilt crossing her face.

Then she hits record.