Thebckcablethathadbeenfirmlypluggedinasedagowasnowinsomeone’shand—knucklesdefined,gripcasual—themetaljackstillswayingslightlyinmidair.
Atsomepoint,aboyhadslippedinthroughtheopenirondoorwithoutmakingasound.
oodbesideheramp.
Heworeasenior’suniform.Histiehungloose,halfyankedopen;onesideofhisshirttailwasoutofhisdresspants.Awornbdergigbagwasslungoverhisshoulder.Athinsheenofsweatyacrosshisforehead,likehe’dsprihewholewayhere.
Hedidn’tlookguiltyintheslightest.
Thoseeyes—restless,impatient,andstrangelybright—lockedstraightontoCra,thegirlwiththebckfive-stringbass.
“You’reLinChu-Qing（初晴）?”Hisvoicewasalittlehoarse.Hewentstraightforthethroat—noapology,nopoliteness.“Theoneinchargeofteagbasstotheeleventhgraders?”
Therehearsalroomfelldeadsilent.OnlytheoldAithummed.Allsixgirlsstaredattheintruderasthetemperatureintheroomdroppedtoice.
Cratippedherupslightlytolookathim.Upclose,shecouldsmellthefaionhim,andsomethingsun-warmed—anoutdoorsstthatdidn’tbelonginthisdamp,shadowybasement.
Hergazeflickedtothecableinhishand.Behindherrimlessgsses,hereyesturnedcoldwithanger.
Shedidn’tanswerhisquestion.
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