He sat. He tucked the cello between his knees. The familiar weight felt like a punch to the gut. He drew the bow across the C-string.
"I don't buy furniture, Mr. Vance," she said, knowing his name without being told. "I buy instruments. And an instrument isn't an instrument unless it’s making a sound. Prove it works." we buy instruments
Elias hesitated. He hadn't touched a string since the funeral. But the shop felt heavy, the walls lined with the ghosts of a thousand silent jazz clubs and orchestral pits, all waiting for a pulse. He sat