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Gavin's music began to change.
It started with simple, quiet melodies, played softly on his acoustic guitar while Echo curled at his feet. But as the days turned into weeks, the music grew bolder, more complex. He brought equipment into the bedroom, transforming a corner of the spacious room into an impromptu recording studio. He seemed to be rebuilding his creative world around her presence.
"I know this is weird," he told her one afternoon, adjusting a microphone stand with a focused expression. "But you are the only audience I can handle right now. No judgment. No expectations. Just you."
Suzy, in her fox form, watched him work with rapt attention. He played a progression of chords, humming along quietly, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. This was a world away from the polished, heavily produced performances she had seen online. This was raw and vulnerable, the creative process stripped of all artifice.
He began to sing, his voice rough but deeply compelling. "Silent witness to my falling apart, silver shadow with the knowing heart."
The lyrics were about her, Suzy realized with a jolt. They were about Echo. Her chest tightened with a surge of emotion she had no way to express.
Gavin noticed her reaction, the subtle way her ears perked up at the sound. "You like that? Yeah, I think it might be something." He played the verse again, adding intricate embellishments to the chords. The melody was haunting and beautiful, possessing a quiet power that was nothing like the radio-friendly rock anthems that had made him famous.
Over the following days, he wrote more. Echo became his muse, his silent companion inspiring songs that felt deeply personal and introspective. He played them for her exclusively, testing out new melodies and lyrical ideas on his four-legged confidante.
"My producer would hate this," he admitted one evening, a bitter twist to his mouth. "It is too slow. Too introspective. It is not commercial enough." He scoffed quietly. "God forbid I make art that actually means something to me."
Suzy wished desperately that she could respond, that she could tell him the music was extraordinary, that it was the most honest and beautiful thing she had ever heard. Instead, she moved closer and pressed her body against his leg in a gesture of support.
Gavin's hand came down to rest gently on her head. "Thanks, Echo. I knew you would understand."
During his absences, Suzy's human explorations of the mansion took on a new depth and purpose. She found notebooks filled with his lyrical ideas, scraps of melody recorded on his phone. She listened to them all, moved by the depth of his artistry and his profound pain. The man the world saw as a confident, successful rockstar was, in reality, a frustrated artist, trapped and constrained by his own public image.
She began to organize his creative chaos. She transcribed lyrics from scattered pieces of paper into one of his empty notebooks, arranging them by theme and potential song structure. She created a basic filing system for his rough digital recordings. She did it all carefully, making it seem as if he had done the work himself during a rare, productive moment.
Gavin discovered the organized materials a few days later. Suzy watched from her bed as he flipped through the notebook, his initial confusion slowly giving way to a look of quiet wonder.
"Did I do this?" He looked around the room, then down at Echo. "I must have. But I do not remember doing it."
He sat down with the notebook and his guitar, working his way through the newly organized lyrics. The session was incredibly productive. His fingers flew over the strings, his voice stronger and more confident than it had been in weeks. When he finally finished, he had completed two new songs that had been stuck in fragmented pieces for months.
"This is good," he said aloud, a note of genuine surprise in his voice. "This is really good."
That night, Oliver and David visited. Suzy hid in the bathroom while Gavin met them downstairs. She could hear their voices carrying clearly through the mansion's impressive acoustics.
"Man, you look better," Oliver said. "What changed?"
"I do not know. I guess I just needed to reset my mind." Gavin's voice was lighter, less strained than she had ever heard it. "I have been writing again."
"That is great news! The label has been breathing down our necks. Can we hear something?"
"Not yet. It is still rough. But soon."
After they left, Gavin returned to find Echo waiting for him in the hallway. "Were you listening? Sorry if they scared you." He picked her up, and she allowed it, resting her head against his shoulder. "Those are my bandmates. They are good guys. The only people in this entire industry I actually trust."
He carried her back to the bedroom and set her down gently on her bed. "I know it is crazy, but having you here has helped me. You have given me something I did not realize I needed so badly."
What is that? Suzy wanted to ask.
"Peace," he said, as if hearing her unspoken question. "You have given me peace."
That night, Suzy lay awake long after Gavin had fallen asleep. Her feelings for him had crossed a line she had not intended. This was no longer simple gratitude or celebrity admiration. She was in love with him, impossibly and completely.
The thought terrified her. How could anything possibly come of this? She was lying to him with every moment she spent in his home, living a double life under his very nose. When he discovered the truth, and she knew he would eventually, how could he ever forgive the deception?
But for now, in the quiet darkness, she could pretend. She could watch him sleep and imagine a different reality, one where she could speak to him as herself, where the profound connection between them could be real and whole.
Tomorrow she would go back to being Echo. But tonight, in the privacy of her own thoughts, she was Suzy. And she was irrevocably, painfully in love.