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The only person who ever heard a crack was her teacher, the elderly and ornery Maestro Silvan.

The Third Note

For the first movement, she was flawless. A machine of perfect angles and ringing intonation. The judges nodded, pencils poised. emma rose demi

That night, Emma Rose Demi sat alone in her hotel room. She took out the Maestro’s note and, for the first time, smiled. He had taught her the final lesson after all. The only person who ever heard a crack

They were wrong. They didn't belong in Tchaikovsky. They clashed, a bitter, jarring chord that made a cellist in the back row wince. The judges nodded, pencils poised

For one horrifying second, her bow hovered above the strings, and her mind went white. The orchestra faltered.

The week before the national finals—the one that came with a gold medal and a debut with the Philharmonic—Maestro Silvan died. A quiet aneurysm in his garden, still clutching a pruning shear. Emma felt the world tilt. Her anchor was gone.