Lora sat at the kitchen table with her phone face-down, staring at the notification she'd already read three times. The message was from someone she hadn't heard from in eight years — someone who'd been in the studio the day Marcus told her the masters were gone. Her chest felt tight. She needed to know if this was an ally finally ready to talk, or if Marcus had sent bait to see what she knew. She picked up the pink heart-shaped chocolate box Mrs. Lophalf had left on her counter yesterday. Lora carried it outside and placed it on the garden bench where the path forked toward the forest trails. She positioned it carefully, the heart pointing left. Then she texted back: "Meet me at the bench by the fork. You'll know which one." Anyone who'd really been her friend back then would remember her habit of leaving little markers — chocolates, scarves, sheet music — to signal which practice room she was in. Marcus wouldn't know that detail. By tomorrow morning, she'd have her answer. Either the box would be moved to show they understood, or it would sit untouched and she'd know to stay silent. But Chloe appeared on the porch before Lora could walk back inside. Her daughter's eyes tracked from Lora's face to the chocolate box on the bench to the phone still in Lora's hand. "Who's coming over?" Chloe asked. Lora smiled wide and easy, the way she always did when the real answer needed to stay hidden. "Nobody yet, baby. Just thinking about old friends." Chloe nodded slowly, her gaze sharp as a referee watching for offsides. She turned and went back inside without another word. Lora stood on the path between the cottage with its rosy blooms and pink-shingled turret and the bench where tomorrow would bring either proof or danger. The plan wasn't blown, but it had moved closer to the surface. She couldn't afford another slip. Inside, Lora found the ornate microphone waiting in its case at the bottom of her closet. She'd kept it wrapped in velvet for years, never showing the kids. The message sender had mentioned it specifically: "Still have that mic we used for the demo sessions?" Only three people knew she'd taken it home that last day. If this was Marcus testing her, he'd picked the wrong detail. But if it was real — if someone from back then was ready to talk — she'd need proof that she still had the recording from those sessions. Lora photographed the microphone's gothic curves and iridescent patterns, then deleted the photo. Not yet. She'd wait for the chocolate box to move first. Tomorrow would tell her if Marcus knew she was coming, or if she'd finally found the witness she needed.

Lora woke before the alarm, her chest tight with the same question that had kept her up half the night. She pulled on her jacket and walked barefoot across the cold kitchen floor. Through the window, dawn was just starting to soften the sky above the trees. But when she reached the edge of the garden, she froze. Someone was already sitting at the wooden cafe table near the path fork — the spot where she'd planned to move the chocolate box this morning as the second signal. The person wore a dark coat, hands folded on the table between the pink cushioned chairs. They were early. Too early. The chocolate box still sat on the bench where Lora had left it yesterday, untouched and pointing left. Whoever this was had come before the signal was moved, which meant they either didn't understand the code or they were desperate enough not to wait for it. Behind her, she heard footsteps on the porch. Chloe. Lora turned and saw her daughter standing in the doorway, already dressed, eyes locked on the figure at the table. Chloe's face showed nothing, but her stillness told Lora everything. Her daughter had been watching too. Lora couldn't send Chloe back inside without making it worse. She couldn't walk out to the stranger with Chloe standing there seeing it all. The plan had been to meet alone, to verify the ally before anyone else knew they existed. Now that choice was gone. Lora met Chloe's eyes and made the only decision left. She nodded once toward the kitchen. Chloe didn't move. Then Lora said quietly, "Stay on the porch. Don't come closer." Chloe's jaw tightened, but she stayed. Lora walked down the path alone, her heartbeat loud in her ears. The figure at the table looked up as she approached. It was a woman, younger than Lora expected, with tired eyes and a canvas bag at her feet. She didn't smile. She didn't apologize for coming early. She just reached into the bag and pulled out a small iridescent crystal, flat on one side like it had been broken off something larger, and set it on the table between them. "This was supposed to be on the bench," the woman said. "The marker you'd recognize. But I couldn't wait anymore. Marcus knows someone's been asking questions." Lora felt the air leave her lungs. The crystal caught the early light, throwing colors across the pink vase of flowers. She'd seen one like it before — mounted on the mixing board in the studio eight years ago, the day the masters disappeared. The woman leaned forward. "I took it the day he had me clear out your session files. I kept it because I knew he'd lied. I just didn't know how to prove it until now." Lora looked back at the porch where Chloe stood watching, then at the chocolate box still waiting on the bench, the signal that no longer mattered. The ally was real. But so was the danger, and now it was sitting twenty feet from her daughter in broad daylight. Lora sat down in the chair across from the woman and said, "Tell me everything Marcus doesn't know you saw."