Charles Ashford chuckled under his breath. “This should be painful.”
At that moment Lily Mercer, who had been tightening a fine tuner at her stand, looked up sharply.
She took in Ethan’s bow, the split in the wrapping, and the set of his jaw. Without ceremony, she crossed the small space between them and held out her own bow. It was a good bow, not ornamental, something used seriously. “Use mine,” she said.
Ethan blinked, surprised enough that his first instinct was to refuse. “Thank you,” he said instead, taking it carefully as if kindness itself needed precise handling. The room shifted. Generosity, publicly offered by one of Bellcroft’s strongest students, unsettled the easy direction of the humiliation.
Ms. Sterling’s brows lifted as Ethan stepped toward the empty music stand at the front.
“You really want to do this in front of everyone?” she asked. “Yes,” Ethan replied. Charles Ashford folded his arms and settled back, confident that if a lesson was about to occur, it would not be directed at him. Ethan placed the violin beneath his chin and adjusted Lily’s bow in his hand.
The room grew quiet. He raised his eyes to Ms. Sterling’s face—not defiant exactly, but firm in the way children become when the alternative is breaking. “Just don’t stop me once I start,” he said.