“Interpretation develops from basic skills. You play Schradieck beautifully.” Suddenly, Miss Satomi was playing Schradieck XVII—exercises passing through six positions.

“Hear how it fits?”

“You can do that?”

“You just did.”

Yes!

Shizuka wanted to scream, but there was no need.

Listen to her! Just listen. Sure, the girl had technical limitations, but whatever. Her perception was easily the equal of any of Shizuka’s previous students. A nuance, an aside, a subtle turn in tone color or mood—Katrina was detecting them all.

Finally, finally, finally!

There was still work to do; there would be good days ahead, and terrible ones. But now there was understanding. And with understanding, all things were possible.

“Once you master the basics, you can make logical assumptions about timing, ornament, intonation, tonality. And from that, you’ll be able to create music that conveys whatever lies within in your soul.

“Oh, and speaking of souls,” Shizuka said.

Suddenly, Katrina Nguyen tumbled into Hell.

What? Somehow, Miss Satomi had switched from Axxiom to The NetherTale.

Katrina had explained that in The NetherTale was a Hell where one did not have to kill. She remembered telling Miss Satomi how one encountered demons and damned souls and infernal beings, and could reach out to them, even befriend them. She had told Miss Satomi that was how one got the best ending.

But Miss Satomi was choosing a different route.

It was long ago, at a Thanksgiving with his mother’s family.

The boy had been with his cousins in the yard—they were playing in Spanish, calling him a name and laughing because he didn’t know what it meant.

His mother burst outside with a horrified expression on her face. She shouted something at his cousins, pulled him inside the house, then soon after shoved him into their car.

It was long ago, after returning from a Thanksgiving with his mother’s family.

His mother was arguing with her sister over the phone. His father was raging, yelling that in his house, he would understand every word spoken, and that they would never go over there again.

The boy was in his room, practicing his violin, trying not to be afraid of the loud voices, trying to send his parents every good thing that his music teacher had said about his playing.

And then, the boy’s father kicked his door open. He lunged toward the boy, and reached for his violin—

Katrina looked up. Miss Satomi was in front of her, leading and alone.

Yes, Katrina had promised to follow—but this was not right.

Katrina asked Martha to play a little stronger, then stronger still.

Yes, there were two violins, but they were playing the same music. And Miss Satomi should not go through what Katrina knew what was about to come next.