The soft, melancholic notes of the piano filled Rita’s penthouse, drifting through the grand living room like whispers from another time. Her fingers danced effortlessly across the keys, playing a melody she hadn’t touched in years—one she used to play when she was younger, back when life was simpler.
A small white Bolognese dog barked at her feet, yapping in protest at being ignored. Rita barely acknowledged it, too lost in the music. It had been three weeks since Faro left, and in his absence, she had acquired the little dog to keep herself occupied. But no pet could fill the void he had left.
Albort stood nearby, watching in silence, arms crossed behind his back. He had always known Rita to be many things—calculating, dangerous, endlessly seductive—but he had never seen this side of her. This… softness.
Then, the doorbell rang.
Rita kept playing, unfazed. Her gaze remained fixed on the piano, her fingers moving without hesitation.
“See who it is,” she murmured to Albort, her voice calm but firm.
Albort gave a slight nod and made his way to the door. As he pulled it open, he found himself looking at an unexpected visitor.
A familiar figure stood there, leaning against the doorframe.
Faro.
His travel-worn clothes hinted at the journey he had taken, his usual rugged confidence slightly dimmed, yet his presence still carried the same undeniable weight.
Albort raised an eyebrow. “Well… look what the forest dragged back.”
Faro smirked slightly but said nothing. Instead, his eyes drifted past Albort, into the penthouse, where the sound of Rita’s piano playing continued.
She hadn’t stopped.
She knew he was there.
She was making him come to her.
Faro stepped inside, the little dog barking furiously at his feet as he walked deeper into the room. He reached the edge of the piano and waited, arms crossed, watching her.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Rita let her fingers slow, drawing out the last notes of the song before allowing them to fade into silence.
She lifted her gaze, green eyes meeting his.
“You’re back,” she said simply, as if he had just stepped out for a moment and not vanished for three weeks.
Faro shrugged. “I got bored.”
Rita smirked, her fingers tapping lazily against the piano keys. “Of the cave or of running away?”
He didn’t answer.
She studied him for a moment, then slowly stood up, running a hand along the sleek surface of the piano.
“Did you miss me?” she asked, tilting her head ever so slightly.
Faro exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. He could still smell her perfume, still feel the weight of the red lingerie in his pocket.
“…Yeah,” he admitted.
Rita’s smirk deepened, and she took a step closer.
“Good,” she whispered. “Because I have plans for you, Falcon.”
A Song of Ghosts and Desire
Rita rose gracefully from the piano bench, her green eyes locked onto Faro’s as she closed the distance between them. Without hesitation, she pulled him into a tight embrace and pressed her lips against his in a deep, lingering French kiss. Her fingers curled around his back, holding him close, her body molding against his.
Albort, ever the silent observer, cleared his throat and turned away, walking out of the living room without a word. He had seen enough of these moments between them—moments that carried an unspoken weight, a dangerous intimacy neither of them would openly acknowledge.
As Rita finally pulled away, her smirk softened. “Sit beside me,” she murmured, leading him back to the piano.
Faro hesitated for a second but obeyed, lowering himself onto the bench beside her. His shoulder brushed against hers as she placed her fingers on the keys and began to play again.
Then she started to sing.
Her voice was hauntingly beautiful, rich and full, carrying an elegance that felt almost out of place in the cutthroat world they lived in.
And as the melody wrapped around him, Faro felt something deep inside him stir. His vision blurred slightly, his chest tightening.
Because Rita’s voice sounded just like his mother’s.
The way Angel Faros used to sing to him when he was a boy.
Memories he had buried—memories of warmth, of safety, of a love that had nothing to do with power or seduction—began to surface.
His hands trembled slightly as he clenched them into fists, forcing himself to hold back the wave of emotions. But Rita noticed. Of course, she did.
She leaned closer, still playing, her voice a whisper against his ear.
“She used to sing to you, didn’t she?“
Faro swallowed hard and nodded. He couldn’t trust his voice.
Rita smiled softly, her fingers never missing a note. “I remember Angel’s voice. She had the gift.”
Faro inhaled sharply at the mention of his mother’s name from Rita’s lips.
She kept playing, but now, there was something different in the way her fingers danced across the keys—something deeper, more personal.
And for the first time in a long time, the space between them wasn’t filled with lust or power plays.
It was filled with ghosts.
A Song Between Us
Albort returned, carrying a tray with two glasses of fresh juice and a small plate of snacks. He moved with his usual silent precision, setting them down on the coffee table near the piano before stepping back. He didn’t leave this time. Instead, he stood nearby, his hands clasped behind his back, listening.
Rita glanced up at him with a knowing smile, then back at Faro, her fingers still flowing effortlessly over the keys. The song had shifted into something softer now, a slow, melancholic melody that seemed to weave through the air like a whispered secret.
Faro reached for his juice and took a sip, feeling the cool liquid ease the tightness in his throat. He was still shaken, though he wouldn’t admit it—not even to himself.
Rita’s voice was mesmerizing, drawing him in, making him forget about everything else for a moment. The past, the present, the chaos of Thundarr City… None of it mattered here.
Just the music. Just her.
Albort, standing quietly near the window, allowed himself a rare moment of appreciation. It had been a long time since he had seen Rita like this—truly at peace, even if only for a fleeting moment.
As the final notes faded into the silence, Rita turned to Faro with a teasing smirk. “Still think you can run away from me, little Falcon?”
Faro exhaled a small chuckle, shaking his head. He knew, deep down, that he would always return to her. No matter how far he tried to run, she was always there, waiting.
Rita leaned in, whispering against his ear, “Drink your juice, Faro. You have a long night ahead of you.”
And as Albort quietly excused himself, leaving them alone once more, Faro couldn’t help but wonder if he had ever truly left at all.
