She couldn’t deny him. Not now. Not this. Keira turned to slide back onto the piano bench. Scooting to the very front of the seat, she pressed herself against the piano, like she was saying good-bye. How could she play, knowing it would be the last time?
In her memory, she saw her own six-year-old hands, struggling to stretch over the keys. She felt her little kid legs, swinging above the ground as she sat on the bench, her feet too short to reach the pedals. The way it felt, when she was just beginning. Only it had always seemed like the beginning, no matter how many times she’d played.
All the hundreds of days that she’d practiced had stacked up into years, and still it had never been enough. The only thing she’d ever wanted was more hours at the piano.
And now this was it. Her time was up.
Poised above the keys, her hands shook like a ship’s sails in the wind. She could feel herself faltering. Failing. She looked over her shoulder at Walker.
“Help me. Please. I can’t do this by myself.”
There was no hesitation. In one motion, he swung his leg over the piano bench, wrapping himself around her. His legs braced hers and he twined his arms around her middle, tucking his chin over her shoulder.
The trembling in her hands slowed. She remembered the day he’d taken her to the shore, the first day she’d ever composed something of her own. She didn’t even have to think about the notes—the music was there, in her memory. The strange, dying sound of the notes against the Darkside air didn’t even register in her hearing.
She began to play, her eyes falling closed. She didn’t need to see the keys. She didn’t need to think about the notes. She remembered the day she and Walker had climbed up the point on the coast. The image of the encompassing fog and that first almost-kiss was enough. This music was with her—in her—no matter what. She’d still have it when they took away the piano.
It would be with her until they took her breath, too.
As she bent over the keys, Keira felt Walker’s mouth brush her ear.
“I love you, Keira Brannon,” he whispered. His lips came to rest against the back of her neck.
The moment he kissed her, the air in the room shifted. The music poured from the piano, the notes pealing though the air with the same tone and feeling that they had in her mind. The sound was richer than anything she’d ever heard. It was tangible—she could feel it, soft as velvet, against her skin. Behind her, Walker froze, his mouth still pressed against her neck.
An enormous snap reverberated through the room and Keira’s eyes flew open.
Something had changed.
Chapter Fifty-Three
THERE WAS A SHOUT from one of the guards and the Tribunal rose in unison.
Keira’s fingers slipped from the keys as Walker lifted his head. The silence in the room was the loudest thing she had ever heard. She half turned to Walker.
“It sounded just like . . . ” She couldn’t even say it. It was too big a thing to wish for.
He nodded.
“It’s gone,” one of the Reformers cried. A gasp rose from the guards. “The old tear in the corner is gone.” He looked over at Keira. “What did you do differently? Why did it work this time? Have you been hiding something from us?” His voice shook, hopeful. Furious. Greedy.
Keira opened her mouth, searching desperately for an answer that she did not have.
Walker’s arms tightened around her.
His arms.
Of course.
When she’d closed the rip between Darkside and her living room, Walker had been sitting on the bench with her. She shut her eyes, trying to remember the details exactly.
She’d been playing her own music then, too. And he’d kissed her. That’s when it had happened.
Just like now.
She glanced at him and saw the same answer shining in his eyes. “It’s us,” she whispered. “Us together.”
He nodded, barely. “Your music.”
“And your kiss,” she answered.
The realization was too huge to put her arms around. They could fix the rips, which was everything the Reformers wanted. But it had to be the two of them, together. The musical ability that was supposed to save Keira would be the thing that saved them both.
“Speak up!” the Tribunal commanded. “What do you have to say about this?”
Keira slid off the bench and faced them with Walker by her side. He wrapped his hand around hers and she squeezed it hard.
“I wasn’t keeping anything from you.” There was too much stubbornness in her voice—too much indignation. She heard it. They heard it. She closed her eyes and breathed in slowly, grateful that she still could. “I wasn’t intentionally keeping things from you,” she said more calmly.