Jack’s profile appears, the video preview showing him sitting on a couch with his guitar.
I tap Play. The sound bursts from the speaker—Jack’s voice, rich and self-satisfied.
“Just a little something I’ve been working on…” Then he strums a familiar progression and sings.
I don’t know this town
But it feels like healing
Though the streets are so strange
And the cracks are revealing.
“Wait—” Lily-Anne steps closer, frowning. “That’s my song. How did you get this?”
My jaw tightens. “He posted it. Someone sent it to me.”
Her frown deepens as she watches the video. “Why would he post this?”
The question ignites something. Blood rushes to my head, the phone shaking in my hand. He’s smiling through her music. Taking the credit. Turning her soul into his spotlight.
“Brandon?” Her tone pitches with worry. “You’re making me nervous…”
I brush past her without thinking and march inside.
The sound of conversation drifts from the living room, followed by the bright, rhythmic strum of a guitar. Jack’s playing Lily-Anne’s, his knuckles rapping a percussive rhythm as he strums, grinning.
The phone burns in my palm, scorching my veins.
Her song still plays in my head—hersong inhisvoice.
I cross the room in an instant and seize the guitar from his hands.
“Whoa.” He laughs as I set it aside. “You alright?”
His voice breaks off in a strangled sound as I seize a fistful of his shirt and drag him upright, the fabric’s silkiness trying in vain to slip through my fingers.
I stand there, still as stone.
Jack stares at me like I’ve gone mad. “What are you doing—?”
I give him a sharp shake to shut him up.“You left Nova when she was vulnerable. She needed you—and you made sure the world knew you’dmoved on with another artist.”
The room inhales as one. For once, Jack is speechless.
My voice stays level, each word placed with care. “She had to watch it online. That’s what broke her.”
“Rubbish. I have no idea what you’re on about—”
I shake him again. “Pandora.”
Understanding dawns on his face—and a flicker of fear. Too late.
I hit him.
My fist cracks against his jaw, the sound snapping through the room like a gunshot.
For a heartbeat, everything stops. Then voices erupt in alarm. People rise to their feet, shocked, Rupert lurching forward as if preparing to break us up with a“Gentlemen, please—let’s not make a scene!”
