Morning. Lily was already awake, humming a song no one recognized.
“Where’d you learn that?” Pip asked.
“The Dreamer taught me. It remembers everything.”
Mira sat at the table, writing in a notebook. Every detail of yesterday. Every word. Every face.
“That’s a lot of writing,” Marcus said.
“I have to put it somewhere. Or my head explodes.”
The warehouse door opened. A man stumbled in. Mid-thirties. Guitar case on his back. His eyes glowed soft pink—not blue.
“Different color,” Dara said, hand on her blade.
“I’m not dangerous,” the man said. “I’m a musician. Or I was. Before the fragment.”
“What does your fragment do?” Julian asked.
The man opened the guitar case. Inside, the instrument pulsed with pink light.
“It makes anyone who hears me play feel exactly what I feel. Happy. Sa
