The last of the light slid behind the hedgerows, leaving the canal washed in indigo and silver. Theo balanced the violin against his knee, listening to the water slap gentle rhythms against the hulls. Across the narrow gap, Ivy leaned against her cabin rail, mug cradled between her palms, her father’s cap shadowing her eyes. She looked at home in the half-dark, as if the canal had decided to claim her after all.

Theo tightened the bow hair with careful turns. “One more tune?” he asked.

She smiled faintly. “As many as you like. The canal doesn’t keep time.”

He drew the bow across the strings, starting slow, letting the first notes breathe. Not the storm-fire reels he was known for, not the restless tearing at melody. Something gentler. A waltz his grandmother had hummed when he was a boy, rough-voiced in the kitchen while water boiled and windows steamed. The sound settled into the dusk like a lantern on still water.

Ivy closed her eyes, rocking slightly with the rhythm. “That’s different,” she murmured. “You’re not fighting anything in that one.”

Theo gave a slight shrug, still playing. “Can’t fight the ghosts. Best to let them sing.”

When the tune ended, the silence didn’t feel empty. It felt companioned. He set the violin across his lap and reached for the apple she had passed him earlier, biting into it, the crunch loud in the quiet.

“You said your father read the market like a book,” Theo said, wiping juice from his thumb. “What did he read about you?”

Ivy’s smile flickered. “That I was always in a hurry. He said I tried to skip ahead to the last page. Maybe he was right. I left the canals for years, thought I wanted noise and speed. Now…” She gestured to the water, the sky, the boats rocking together. “Now I wonder if he knew I’d come back eventually.”

Theo tapped the violin’s belly with his fingertip, thoughtful. “Fathers like to think they can read the future. Maybe they hope loudly enough that it feels like prophecy.”

She looked at him steadily. “And yours?”

He shifted, shoulders tightening before he forced them loose again. “Didn’t stay long enough to read anything. Music filled the space he left. Bandmates, teachers, crowds, they all had an opinion. None of them were his.”

Ivy said nothing, but the quiet she offered was better than words. She reached across the gap with another slice of bread, bridging the boats with her hand until he took it. The gesture was small, but it felt like an agreement.

Theo raised the violin again, this time offering the bow toward her. “Want to try?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I’d sound like a cat in a sack.”

“Cats can be tuneful if you listen right,” he said with a grin. “Besides, there’s no audience but the water.”

She hesitated, then set her mug aside and stood. The step between the boats was a narrow risk, but she crossed, balancing with arms outstretched until her boots found his deck. Up close, the lantern glow from his cabin caught the strands of hair loose around her face, the green-gold in her eyes. She looked younger, but also steadier.

He placed the violin gently in her hands and guided her fingers. Her laugh bubbled out when the first note squealed, but she pressed again, slower this time, and the sound smoothed enough to be recognizable.

“Not bad,” he said softly. “For someone in a hurry to get to the last page.”

She shot him a playful look, then tried another bow stroke. The melody faltered, but Theo filled in around her, weaving his bow under hers until the two sounds awkward and assured met in the middle. The waltz limped into being, uneven yet beautiful for its effort.

By the time she handed the instrument back, her cheeks were flushed with laughter. She sank onto the roof beside him, breathless. “You made me sound better than I was.”

“Every good tune hides the rough notes,” Theo said. “You just have to carry on until the music forgives you.”

They sat shoulder to shoulder, the violin resting between them like a third presence. Above, the stars thickened. Below, the canal rocked them gently in its slow pulse. Theo felt the knot of tension inside him loosen another thread. Here, with Ivy’s laughter still echoing and the water steady beneath, he no longer needed to fight the silence. He could let it hold him, note by note, story by story.