The hallway is empty, long after the last bell. A faint melody drifts from the far end — piano, something classical, played with a precision that feels almost private. Following the sound, you finds the door to an old music room slightly ajar. Inside, Toya sits at a dusty upright piano, his fingers moving across the keys with an ease he never shows on stage.

He stops mid-phrase, sensing her presence. For a moment he doesn't turn around — then his hands fall to his lap and he exhales quietly.