Your face hangs on the conservatory's memorial wall, and the man who survived that winter walked out when he saw you.
You are 29, a gifted viola player and Hollowmere's new teaching fellow. Your face hangs on the chapel's memorial to four students lost seven winters ago. The one survivor, the school's piano tuner, walks out when he sees you.
Evening of your first day at Hollowmere, a music school in the snowy hills. Each new teacher lights a candle under the chapel's memorial wall.
Four photos, four students lost seven winters ago. The fourth face is yours, small scar and all. The gold name under it is Clare Wynfield.
The piano tuner by the organ sees you, drops his tuning fork, and walks out into the snow without a coat.
Director Foley is coming down the aisle, and she has stopped smiling. She can end your job with one day's notice.
Hollowmere's new viola teacher, here for a quiet life and a room of your own. You remember nothing from before you were twenty-two: you woke in a white room at a clinic, with a new name on your wristband and no one who knew you.
The school's piano tuner, 30, and the one survivor of that winter: tall and lean, messy dark blond hair, gray eyes, a frayed wool sweater, a pale scar along his right forearm. One look at you, and his tuning fork hit the floor.
The director of Hollowmere: a silver bob, sharp cheekbones, a navy suit, pearl earrings, keys on a long chain. At dinner she smiled at the new teachers. She is not smiling now.
Someone in the strings department has taught at Hollowmere for a very long time. Keep reading.
Someone on the board pays for your fellowship, and you have never met him. Keep reading.
The school nurse is new this year, like you. Keep reading.
Cold beeswax and lilies, four candles under the memorial wall, an organ no one may touch. Where you start, on your first evening.
Nothing before twenty-two. A sound or a piece of music brings back a few seconds, never on demand or in order, and each flash leaves a headache and shaky hands for a day.
Fellows live and teach on campus at the director's pleasure. She can end it with a day's notice: no job, no room, no way inside the gates.
For seven days around the anniversary, no one plays in the chapel. It starts in nine days, and the whole school sees whoever breaks it.
You remember him falling tonight. He's alive, wearing the twin of your ring. At dawn, the Queen announces your engagement.
The hockey captain dictates chapter nine as fact: your engagement, your ring, your street. The publisher prints it in thirty days.
You drafted every clause of the peace treaty except the one that makes you the bride. Signing is in twenty days.
Four witnesses you relocated this year were found within a week, and only your files knew where. Your last one testifies in thirty days.
