He wasn’t the only music teacher in Range, but still. The way she moved with the music. The way she connected with it.
As he pushed through the crowd, the girl’s attention snapped up, and she looked at him. Her cheeks tightened as she played toward the coda, as though she were trying not to smile.
He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t hope. Couldn’t stop remembering the light flooding from Ana into the silver chain.
Sam climbed the stairs two at a time as the black-haired girl played four long notes and lowered her flute. When she bent to place it in her case, obsidian-black wings stretched behind her: the phoenix statue.
He wanted to believe. Wanted more than anything.
He stopped only a step away from her while people milled around, ignoring them. Stef called his name in the distance, but he didn’t turn.
“Is it really you?” He’d never wished for anything so much.
The girl looked up at him. Her eyes were so blue they put the sky to shame. She could have been anyone, but she’d drawn him with her music. Even if he couldn’t trust his eyes, he could trust his ears and heart. She wasn’t just anyone.
With a strangled cry, he caught her in his arms. “I’ve been too afraid to hope,” he breathed. She was hugging him back, and they were both trembling. “I’ve missed you so much.”
She pulled away to turn her palms up, revealing pale scars. Chain links. When shadows passed over her skin, the scars glowed.
Ana leaned close and whispered, “I’ve been reborn.”