Chapter 1 — The Lost Violin

Layna

The velvet cushion dug into Layna’s thighs as she perched on the edge of her chair, her feet barely brushing the polished oak floor. Her violin case rested on her lap, its latches gleaming under the warm, amber glow of the theater lights. Around her, the low hum of conversation swelled, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the shuffle of programs. Parents leaned close to whisper encouragement to their children, siblings fidgeted in their seats, and the air buzzed with the collective anticipation of an audience waiting for the show to begin.

Layna’s hands fidgeted with the hem of her pale blue dress—too stiff, too perfect, like the neat braid taming her unruly red hair. Her mother had picked it out, insisting it was “just right” for the occasion. The thought of her mother, however, made Layna’s chest tighten, her breath hitch. She glanced at the door leading into the auditorium for the fiftieth time in ten minutes, her sharp green eyes darting over the faces in the crowd.

She wasn’t here yet. She was supposed to be here—she *promised.*

“She’ll be here,” her teacher had assured her backstage, the forced smile on her face as brittle as glass. “Mothers always come for their little girls.” Layna didn’t correct her, didn’t mention how many hours her mother spent hunched over her laptop, her fingers flying over the keys as if she were chasing something just out of reach. She didn’t bring up the nights she’d seen her mother sitting by the window, hands trembling around a cigarette she thought Layna didn’t know about. Promises, Layna had learned, were fragile things.

The lights dimmed, and the audience fell into a hush. Layna stiffened at the shuffle of the first performer’s footsteps crossing the stage. She scanned the door again, willing it to open, to reveal her mother’s familiar silhouette with her frazzled hair and those apologetic eyes that always promised, *next time will be different.*

But the door stayed closed.

The violin case on her lap seemed to grow heavier, the pressure in her chest coiling tighter with each name called. Her fingers brushed the edge of the case, her nails digging faintly into the leather. Maybe she’d been wrong to hope this time. Maybe she shouldn’t have let herself believe. A part of her wanted to slip into the corridor, to call her mother and give her one last chance to prove her doubts wrong. But her name came too soon, piercing the air like a bell shattering glass.

“Layna Morrison.”

Her heart dropped. Her stomach knotted. It was her turn.

She rose mechanically, her body moving on autopilot as she clutched the violin. The case felt impossibly heavy in her hands. Her palms were slick as she stepped into the blinding spotlight, its oppressive glare swallowing the shadows where she’d felt safe just moments before. The expectant silence of the audience bore down on her, a weight she wasn’t ready to carry.

Layna lifted the violin to her chin, her bow trembling as her fingers hovered over the strings. She drew in a shallow, shaky breath and closed her eyes. The first note wavered, fragile as spun glass, before she forced her fingers steady. But her thoughts were anything but.

*Where are you? Why aren’t you here? Did you even try?*

The melody flowed, haunting and bittersweet, each note a pleading question, a fractured cry. Her hands trembled, her fingers pressing harder than necessary as the emotions she couldn’t voice poured through the strings. The music surged, raw and aching. In her mind’s eye, she pictured her mother in the crowd, lips forming a quiet apology. But when Layna opened her eyes, all she saw was the empty space where her mother should have been.

When she finally lowered the bow, the applause felt distant, muffled, like the roar of waves heard underwater. She bowed stiffly, her face an impassive mask, then retreated backstage. She didn’t wait for her teacher’s hollow praise or the sympathetic glances of the other parents. She just wanted to leave.

The violin felt like lead in her hands as she sat in the wings, waiting for the recital to end. She stared at the clock on the wall, its ticking a cruel, monotonous reminder of how long her mother had been absent. When the last performer finished and the audience began filing out, their laughter and chatter filling the theater, Layna’s gaze lingered on the door once more.

But it didn’t open for her mother.

“Layna.” The voice startled her. She turned to see Mrs. Hargrove, the neighbor her mother called on when she was running late. The woman’s face was kind, but her lips were pressed into a thin, uneasy line.

“Your mom asked me to take you home,” Mrs. Hargrove said gently, though her voice wavered.

Layna’s stomach plummeted. “What happened?” she asked, her voice brittle.

Mrs. Hargrove hesitated, her gaze skimming the floor. “She’s... tied up with something important. You know how she can get.” Her attempt at a reassuring smile faltered. Layna didn’t need to hear the rest. She knew. Whatever had “tied up” her mother wasn’t work—not the kind of work Mrs. Hargrove could explain.

The violin in Layna’s hand felt heavier than ever, its weight mirrored by the ache in her chest. Mrs. Hargrove laid a hand on her shoulder briefly before guiding her toward the exit, her silence speaking volumes.

The car ride home was quiet, the hum of the engine filling the void between them. Layna stared out the window, her fists clenched in her lap. The city rolled by in streaks of gray and yellow, shadows cast by the passing streetlights flickering over her face. She wanted to ask Mrs. Hargrove for more answers, to demand to know what “tied up” really meant, but the lump in her throat kept her silent.

When they arrived at her apartment, the building’s worn facade loomed over her like a silent guardian. The stairwell creaked beneath her feet as she climbed to the third floor, the weight in her chest growing heavier with each step. She unlocked the door with her spare key and stepped inside. The apartment was dark, the faint smell of burnt toast lingering in the air. Nothing had changed.

And her mother wasn’t home.

The violin slipped from her hand, landing with a dull thud as she sank onto the couch. The silence pressed in on her, thick and suffocating. She stared at the cracks in the ceiling, counting them until the tears she refused to shed dried in her eyes. Minutes blurred into hours—or was it the other way around? Time felt irrelevant.

Eventually, her legs carried her to her mother’s desk. The laptop sat humming softly, its screen a faint beacon in the gloom. Layna stared at it, her fingers hovering above the keyboard. Her chest burned with frustration, then anger. With a sudden, violent motion, she swept her hand across the desk, scattering papers and pens onto the floor. A small object tumbled from beneath a stack of folders—a sleek, black USB drive shaped like a raven in flight.

She picked it up, her fingers tracing the outline of its wings. The faint etching of the raven glinted in the dim light—elegant and ominous. Something about it made her pause, a prickle of unease stirring in the back of her mind. But curiosity drowned out hesitation. Her breathing steadied, her pulse slowing as her anger sharpened into something colder, more focused.

She inserted the USB drive into the port and watched as the screen filled with a cascade of encrypted files. Lines of code scrolled across the display, their complexity both thrilling and intimidating. These were her mother’s secrets, hidden in digital shadows she wasn’t meant to explore. But Layna had always been good with computers—curious, persistent. Her mother’s absence had left her with questions, and here, at last, was a place to start.

Her fingers flew over the keyboard, her mind racing even as her body stilled. The cold glow of the screen lit her face as she dug deeper, the promise of answers luring her further. Somewhere in this data, Layna thought, lay the truth her mother didn’t want her to find.

This night, she decided, would be the first of many. Her mother wasn’t here. But her secrets were. And Layna would uncover every last one of them.