Craspokesuddenly.Hervoicewasn’tloud,butinthequietbasementithstartlingcrity.
Elianblinked.“What?”
“Slipknot’sstyledestroysstrings.Intwomonths,I’llburnthroughatleastthreepacks.”Craliftedherhead.Behindherrimlessgsses,hereyesfredwithastubborn,unyieldingfireasshemethisgazewithoutbagdown.“Ipickthebrand.Youpay.AndifIpractitilmyfingerssplit,you’reresponsiblefanizingmyotesuntilmyhandsheal.”
Forased,Elianlookedgenuinelycaughtoffguard.
Thenhedroppedhisheadandughed—low,pleased,thesoundrollingoutofhimlikeithadbeenwaitingthereallong.Whenhesmiled,hiseyescurved,anditwaseasytoseewhyhalftheschoolwentcrazyoverhim.
“Deal.”Elianheldouthisrighthand,hisgrinbrightenoughtosting.“Tomorrow,twop.m.Ximending—PyerRehearsalStudio.I’llbewaiting.”
Crastaredathislong-fingeredhand,drebreath—
thenreachedoutwithherownhand,slightlyroughfromyearsofpressingstrings,andgrippedhishard.
Justlikethat,ayouthtransa—packedwithgunpowder,sweat,andheavymetal—wasofficiallysealed.
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