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Florence lifts one shoulder in a tiny shrug before pointing at Luca.

“I’m fine,” she says reflexively, to which Florence responds with a dim smile. Luca bites down on the inside of her cheek. If the silence is grating for her, she doesn’t want to know how Florence feels. Gathering her courage, she asks, “Do you want to listen to music?”

Florence hesitates for only a second before nodding emphatically. Luca hands her one of her earbuds. “Do you want to pick?”

Florence shakes her head.

“Oh. Okay.” Luca doesn’t know why she’s suddenly nervous as she scrolls through her music library. She settles on one of the playlists she usually puts on while she’s getting ready for work—it’s mostly oldies, the kind of music her dad blasts around the house on weekends when he’s cleaning. The first song is “Vienna” by Billy Joel.

Florence’s laugh is a quiet exhale through her nose, audible to no one but Luca. Somehow, the tiny sound makes pride bloom, warm and golden, in Luca’s chest.

“Try to sleep some more,” she whispers to Florence.

Florence nods. Her hair tickles Luca’s arm as she leans her head against Luca’s shoulder.

Luca smiles down at her lap. She spends the rest of the drive playing soft acoustic songs and holding herself very still.

26

Vienna is all blue skies and buildings like pastries: tall, regal things in shades of cream with delicate embellishments like carefully piped icing. The city is bright and busy and beautiful, and Florence can’t appreciate any of it.

She feels like she’s going insane. Her mind is an animal pacing behind the bars of its enclosure. It’s hell sitting through dinner with the band without being able to talk and going sightseeing the next day without being able to join in on any conversations. If she has something important to say, she has to type it out on her phone, which takes so long she wants to scream in frustration, which is the opposite of what she’s supposed to do.

By the time they get back to the hostel, her nerves are rubbed raw. While the others debate where to go for dinner, she sits on her bed and stares at the wall. Her throat still feels scratchy. The idea of not being able to sing tomorrow makes her nauseous.

“What do you think, Flo?” Miray asks. Her tone is gentle in that way it always gets when she can tell Florence is miserable. “Korean or Italian?”

At this point, Florence doesn’t have to suppress the urge to open her mouth and speak. She’s aware that her vocal cords can’t have atrophied within the last thirty-six hours, but a part of her remains stubbornly convinced that she will never speak again. It will just be this, forever.

God. She wants to claw her way out of her own brain.

She pulls out her phone and texts, I think I’ll just stay in tonight. You guys have fun x

Miray’s brows furrow. “Are you sure?”

Florence nods. She’s drained and irritated and irrationally upset. It’s probably best for everyone if she just stays in their room and watches a film.

“Want us to bring something back for you?” Toni asks.

No, I’m okay. Thanks.

From the other end of the room, Florence can feel Luca watching her. All day, she has been intensely attentive; she was the one who shushed the others when Florence tried to get their attention, who ordered her coffee and went up to the register to buy the book she picked out at the tiny secondhand bookstore they’d stumbled upon. Florence was grateful for it earlier, but in her current condition, the weight of Luca’s gaze makes her skin feel too tight.

“Do you need more tea?” Miray asks.

Florence gives a firm shake of her head. At this point, she feels like she consists of nothing but tea. Her blood must be 90 percent peppermint.

“Come on,” Toni says finally. “Let’s leave her to rest.”

Florence shoots her a grateful look. Miray gives her a hug and Izzy pats her head, and then they’re gone, leaving Florence alone in the empty hostel room.

She exhales. It’s strange to be on her own after two weeks of spending almost every minute with the band. The room is too quiet. She feels, abruptly, very lonely. It’s possible that she’s been feeling lonely for the last two days. There’s a sense of isolation that comes with being unable to speak, and even though she knows it’s only temporary, it makes her want to cry.

She doesn’t, of course. Instead, she changes into her pajamas and removes her makeup over the tiny sink. She’s still in the bathroom when she hears the hostel room door click and freezes, towel in hand.

“Florence?” Luca calls.

The tension rushes out of her at once.