How?

The tempo picked up again as they flowed into the second movement, and the question was lost to the flurry of notes—but then the rest came, and she looked again, searching for their faces to ensure that they were still there.

The key changed from the E minor opening to a slower C major movement as they moved into the andante. The tone shifted to A minor, becoming darker. Her accompaniment took on a tremulous quality that required the entirety of her attention before they shifted back to the C major theme and glided to a serene conclusion.

They’re here.

How are they here?

After the second movement came a fourteen-bar transitional passage back into E minor for her and her fellow strings, and Etta braced herself for the fast passagework of sonata rondo form. When she looked up from her strings, her eyes drifted to the back of the auditorium, where a lone, shadowy figure leaned against the wall. Etta squinted, trying to make out the face. The set of his shoulders…the way he held his head—

As if sensing her gaze, he leaned closer to the dim light fixture on the wall behind him.

And suddenly, Etta knew joy. It passed through her like a thousand fluttering feathers.

She felt it explode inside of her as the orchestra moved as one through the effervescent finale, and the music became demanding again. Her mind could scarcely keep up with her fingers, and she had to tell herself, Slow down—she had to tell herself, Don’t rush—

Nicholas.

Etta soared through the ascending and descending arpeggios, trying to keep herself rooted to the stage, to the music. By the time she reached the frenetic coda, she was smiling, near to bursting with the rapid way her world had colored itself back in. She was playing now for the world to hear, and it didn’t matter that she might never have the opportunity again, it didn’t matter that the still life she’d built for herself over the last few months was on the verge of collapse. Etta reached the final note and felt as if the roof had cracked open and finally let the starlight back into her world.

She couldn’t hear the applause over her own heart. Some part of her remembered shaking Mr. Davis’s hand, him saying something to her that was lost as she turned to thank the orchestra. Gabby had to point to the front of the stage to remind her to take her bow.

Etta was the first one off the stage, setting her violin down in its open case backstage and bolting to the green room, and then to the west gallery, which ran along the auditorium seating. The man working the concession stand looked up, startled by her sudden, frantic appearance as she moved past him, exiting at the back of the house and all but exploding through the doors into the lobby.

Nicholas stood a short distance away, hovering near the closed ticket counters. To anyone else, he might have been the portrait of nonchalance, but Etta read the uncertainty in his stance as he tried to take in the lights, the sounds of this world around him. He kept one hand tucked into the modern, relaxed black slacks he wore; he used the other to smooth down the front of his crisp white button-down.

“Hi,” she managed.

“Hi,” he said, sounding slightly out of breath himself. “That was…astonishing. You are astonishing.”

She took another step toward him. Another. And another. Slowly, until he could no longer stand it, and met her halfway. Etta felt unbearably raw, as if her chest had been cut open and her swollen heart was there for all to see.

“And you’re…here.”

The smile that crept across his face was mirrored in full effect on her own. “I am.”

“And…my parents?”

How?

Nicholas laughed softly. “We might have been here to greet you before the start of the concert, but neither could agree on how best to arrive, and by then, there were few seats left to be had.”

Etta was almost dizzy with the sight of him after so long. “I don’t understand—the passage closed.”

He slipped his left hand out from behind his back and turned the palm up to face her. What she saw there was a scar, a whole network of them, that crisscrossed and wove through one another, creating what looked to her like…

“The astrolabe,” she breathed, reaching out to grip his hand, to take a closer look. He’d been holding it when it was destroyed, keeping it in place.

“It took me some time, pirate,” he said quietly, stepping close enough to her that she could see his pulse flutter in his throat. “To find your father in Moscow, and your mother in Verona, and wait for her to be strong enough to travel once more. Li Min did something to keep her breathing before we were all scattered across the years. I’ll not pretend to understand, and while it’s cost her the ability to speak, she is whole, and well. Then there was the not-insignificant matter of finding something from your time to create the passage here. A separate journey unto itself entirely.”

Etta was so close to him now that she had to crane her head back to look up past the strong line of his jaw into his beautiful face. “What did you use?”

He dug a hand into his pocket and pulled out a cheap plastic key chain with the I ♥ NY logo, dangling it in front of her. Etta laughed, taking it from him. “Okay, I need this story.”

Nicholas’s smile was so unguarded, so freely given, she nearly cried at the sight of it. “The Belladonna had it in her vast collection. She was attempting to fetch a king’s ransom for it—or another favor. The resulting destruction to her shop as your parents dueled for who had the right to take the favor caused her to throw it at me and banish us.”