“Are we late?” I hurry to keep up, my skirt swishing around my thighs. If we are late, it’s not my fault. I’m not the one who couldn’t peel myself off his new wife, kissing and giggling in the kitchen like teenagers.

I don’t say that, obviously. It would irritate my father, and besides—I’m happy he’s found love again. Even a very demonstrative, nauseating kind of love.

“Not yet,” my father snaps, tugging on my elbow again, and I roll my eyes and push after him through the crowd. His blond head is a beacon among dark jackets and jewel-toned scarves. Somewhere through the press of bodies, a busker strums an acoustic guitar, and my father squeezes my elbow in warning.

I know, I know. We can’t stop to listen.

Not even if the music calls out to me, tugging on the loose ends of my soul.

For all my father’s grumbling, we spill out into the street with plenty of time to spare. The stars wink at us from above, dulled by the city lights but still beautiful, and snowflakes swirl on the breeze and melt on my cheeks.

The crowds are thinner up here above the station, but the streets are still full, with couples wandering arm in arm to dinner dates and flustered parents carrying armloads of shopping bags. Everyone is bundled in winter coats, noses flushed and eyes bright against the cold.

My father checks his watch, distracted, and begins to tow me along again, my suitcase bumping against his calf.

“It has wheels,” I tell him, hitching my violin case higher under my arm.

Either he doesn’t hear me or he doesn’t care. That’s fine. It’s his pant leg getting scuffed.

Even though I’ve been to the city hundreds of times in my life, I can’t help gaping up at the huge buildings like a tourist. The pale stone stretching high overhead, the huge windows, the ornamental balconies—it all feels like it’s from another time. Another world. A grander one, and a more brutal one, too.

I can see why Herr Vogel settled here. It suits him.

Our harried journey ends at the stone steps to an ornate town house, three blocks from the U-Bahn station. The house is tucked between a boutique hotel on one side and a coffee house on the other, the cafe still packed with customers and its windows steamed over, even this late in the evening.

No wonder the city is famous for artists and musicians. Everyone here is too caffeinated to ever sleep.

“We’re early.” My father drops my elbow, checking his watch and shooting me a rueful smile. I smirk back, shaking out my arm.

“Herr Vogel will be happy.”

The smile drops off my father’s face, as quickly as it came. He glances around, like Herr Vogel could be listening, hanging in the doorway like an eavesdropping bat. And when it’s clear we’re alone, he steps closer and speaks in low, urgent tones.

“Don’t annoy him, Bellamy. Don’t get in the man’s way. Understand?”