Page 110 of Hunger & Harmony

“I’m indebted to you, Jamie!” I call after her, watching her disappear around the corner.

Then, I look to the right of the hall. That’s where I’ll be heading.

This path no longer feels the same. Surreal doesn’t cover it. It’s not different to be here at nearly four in the morning, and a hushed buzz of office activity remains in the background, but it’s just me and the gray walls as I walk.

I notice details I’ve never seen before. Was there always a collection of rolled-up rugs in the hall up to the meeting rooms? Since when did we have a potted plant at the entrance of the break lounge? And what’s crumpled on the floor next to the rehearsal room’s doors?

When I bend down, I see it’s sky blue and floppy.

“What’re you doing here?” I ask my lanyard as I snatch it up.

I don’t even have to glance at it to know it’s mine. Huh. How the hell . . .?

“Silence harbors the end . . .”

Goosebumps sweep over my skin. I freeze, the hair on the back of my neck rising as the soft song continues.

“The crown will crack before it bends.”

My heart is in my throat, and I swallow hard, eyes darting around the hallway. It’s a woman’s voice. Gentle, beautiful, and echoing around the corner.

I take a breath. Maybe it’s one of the cleaners, or an admin worker singing to herself? This is a record label; it’s not too out of the question, right?

“A song unsung will call her name,

And love will set the halls aflame.”

Clutching my lanyard, I take a small step back. Where is that coming from?

Why do I recognize it?

I wait, the seconds stretching into a minute of painful silence. Nothing.

Trying to relax my muscles, I hurry down the hall, dashing back to the break room. I don’t know what’s going on, but those lyrics remind me of something. Silence and fire. A song and a crown.

I slow to a stop, staring down at the random plant sitting next to the door. As I peer at it, I realize the heart-shaped green leaves are plastic.

“It’s fake,” I whisper, frowning at the plant.

“What is it, Cass?”

My brow furrows before I swiftly press myself to the wall. Selene’s voice comes from inside the break room. I hear a chair scrape.

“Please have a seat.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“No,” she says. “Just say what you need to.”

“Sel . . .”

My eyes nearly pop out of my head. Why is our sound tech talking so casually to Selene? I’ve barely seen them interact, let alone be on such familiar terms. I hold my reaction in and try to be as still as possible.

“Not here,” she whispers.

It’s not a cold response. It’s a quiet plea.

“I’m sorry, I . . .”