In the third minute, the silver string snapped. Elias caught it with his teeth, held it taut, and kept playing with his mouth and his left hand alone. The sound changed: became wetter, more intimate. The note that could not exist now existed, and it was hungry .
"I remember," he said. "I remember what came before the silence." Cantabile 4-- Crack
The score lay open on his desk, its final movement titled simply: Cantabile 4-- Crack . Two dashes, like the pause before a glacier calves into the sea. The "--" was not a rest, not a fermata. It was a held breath. A promise. In the third minute, the silver string snapped
"Maestro?" she whispered.
The crack widened.
And he saw himself.
"Music," he said.