He couldn’t have been more than fifteen.
Dressed in a waiter’s uniform, holding a silver tray filled with sparkling glasses, he moved carefully—almost deliberately trying not to be seen.
His shirt was clean, though the cuffs were worn.
His shoes were polished, but tired.
He carried himself like someone who had already learned an important lesson far too early:
Take up as little space as possible.
To everyone else, he was invisible.
Just another helper.
But Daniel wasn’t looking at the guests.
He was looking at the piano.