Orfeo approached the cello cautiously. He had to move a black suitcase aside to reach it. In no other time since arriving on Trachis did Evdokiya feel so close, so near, and he stood before the case a moment, his whole body shivering, and touched the shiny plastic, the metal clasps. One was snapped off, and the plastic had been scratched. He ran a hand along the gentle hump of the case, unhinged the other clasps. He was afraid to open it, afraid of what he’d find, the plates smashed or shattered, and his heart thumped loudly in his throat. He was surprised the case had been found in the first place, but when he swung open the cover, what he saw surprised him even more: there was no instrument inside.

He closed his eyes and ran a hand over the pelt of red velvet. It was only slightly damp, still soft to the touch. What had become of the cello? He opened the pocket inside the case and found a used cake of rosin and a G string coiled in a circle.

Ana, who’d been watching the Bulgarian from across the room, walked over and stood behind him. He was running his hands over the entire inside of the case. When he opened his eyes again, Ana stepped toward him.

Is it hers? she asked.

He nodded yes.

She plays the cello, Ana said beneath her breath, almost to herself.

A man in a white jumpsuit and orange gloves approached and stood attentively a few feet behind. He wore a blue visor cap with the initials CTSB on it.

Orfeo turned to him at last.

Has the cello been found? he asked. Or any parts of it?

It was the first full sentence Ana had heard the Bulgarian speak. The man in the jumpsuit shook his head.

No, sir, I don’t believe so. But—he held up one hand—wait here, please.

He disappeared somewhere into the back. Ana waited beside Orfeo. They didn’t speak. Orfeo stared into the velvet of the case as if he were peering into a pool. The case looked to Ana like the inside of a wisteria pod, the hard shell so surprisingly soft inside, the seed gone. A door opened somewhere in the back and flooded the hangar momentarily in a golden afternoon light. Then it shut again, and the man in the jumpsuit returned carrying a small plastic bag and handed it to Orfeo.

This is all, he said, so far.

There were numbers, coordinates, written in black ink on the clear plastic. Orfeo unsealed the top of the bag and shook its contents into his palm.