I sit on the edge of my bed and try to construct the perfect opening line, rehearsing potential contenders out loud and striking them down one by one. Finally, I open my messages with Danni to remind myself where we left off, and the answer pops into my mind. Once, I promised to give her an ice-skating lesson. Well, what better time than tonight?

With a spring in my step, I head downstairs and try her room, but she doesn’t respond to my knock. I imagine this means she’s either visited Molly after all, or she’s practicing piano. With any luck, it’s the latter. I head outside the building—via a quick visit to Theodore’s—and into the crisp night air, and have my question answered by the distant sound of lilting music.

The melody is slow, smooth, and haunting. The closer I draw, the more I notice how the piano somehow seems to hang in the air even as each note falls away. It’s as though the vibrations are reverberating in my blood, altering the beating of my heart. I wonder idly if it’s matching time with Danni’s. I ask Theodore to wait outside the building for me, and he agrees. Theodore’s always been my favorite of the two guards for this exact reason. He’s comfortable giving me more space than Sidney. He’s known me for longer, which might have something to do with it. Sidney was only hired a few months ago to replace Elizabeth, who was let go after what happened on her watch in Amsterdam.

The stairwell to the ballroom is enveloped by music. There’s a heartbreaking quality to the song. It seems to be telling a wordless story of grief and loss. I enjoy music, but I wouldn’t call myself an expert in the art. Even I can tell, however, that the credit here goes to the player, not the notes themselves. In less capable hands—mine, for example—I doubt this song would have the same power to move.

I’m not sure if it’s the sight of my feet climbing these dimly lit stairs, or the fearful undertone of the music, or the combination of the two, but suddenly I’m reminded of the time I climbed a similar set of stairs, months ago. I remember Molly walking ahead of me, and the tightening of her voice as she called his name. I remember the thrumming party music, and the sour smell of spilled beer, and the darkness of the hallway above us. I remember Molly opening that door. I remember—

I stop remembering and sit on the staircase landing, clasping my hands together tightly, until the song ends. What follows is a more disjointed series of notes and chords, interrupted with periods of silence, that tell me Danni has moved into a new piece she’s yet to learn. Or is perhaps even composing.