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Jesper and Wylan only had time to exchange a glance over the child's drawing before the child himself came around the corner. Small, blond, and obviously well-fed, he seemed remarkably unmoved by two strangers in his house. "Who are you?"

Before either of them could come up with a good answer—or any answer at all—another voice was heard from the next room. "Master Rollins. Alby!" The voice was followed by the governess.

It was all giving Wylan flashbacks to his own youth. Uncomfortable flashbacks that he would have preferred not to be having right now. Or ever, really.

The governess looked at them as calmly as Alby had. "Who are you? And what are you doing in here?" When neither of them had an answer, she called over her shoulder for the bodyguard, a large bearded man who appeared almost immediately.

"Oh." Wylan took an involuntary step backward, glancing up at Jesper for some guidance.

The bodyguard's hand closed on his gun. Jesper's hand moved to twitch his coat aside, ready to draw his. Wylan could see what might happen—guns going off with a child in the room, Jesper off his game because of it and because of Wylan, the child injured, Jesper injured …

If that kind of thing was going to be prevented, Wylan was going to have to speak, come up with something to say. In the nick of time, he remembered the broken piano. "Um … We … We're from Hoppe and Sons. Tuning and repairs." He opened his own coat to show all the tools he was carrying. "We're here to fix the piano. Mr. Rollins sent us."

The governess blinked. "Oh. Then quit dawdling and get on with it. Master Rollins has lessons tomorrow."

The two of them turned back into the room with the piano, trying to look like they knew what they were doing when they raised the lid. Well, Jesper was trying to look like he knew what he was doing. Wylan appeared to actually know.

But once the piano was opened, no special expertise was required. The broken piano wire was obvious to the untutored eye. Jesper didn't need Wylan telling him someone had cut it to be aware of what had happened.

Over Wylan's shoulder, he looked at the little boy. Having been a small boy himself once—being one still, in many ways, according to a number of people—Jesper had a fair idea of who was behind the Great Piano Wire Caper. "Hey. Did you cut this wire?"

The little boy twisted his face up, but didn't answer.

"How dare you accuse him? He's a child!" exclaimed the governess, but Jesper ignored her, his eyes still on the boy.

Jesper's face asked the question one more time, and this time the boy nodded, beaming. "Yeah. I did that." He was quite proud of himself. He should be, in Jesper's view. It was a nice clean cut. Beautifully done. The boy had a way with tools, it seemed.

The governess was shocked. Jesper had to wonder what else the boy got away with that she didn't know about.

"I hate piano," the boy said simply.

Jesper looked at the governess. "Well, you should know—whatever he cut that with? Very sharp."

She ignored the remark, and the implication of her negligence. "If the wire's a problem, I presume you have a replacement."

"Yes. Of course," Wylan assured her. He and Jesper turned around and he whispered, "We don't."

"Hm." If they started something here at the home of Pekka's son, it would be bad for everyone. Which meant fixing the wire, if they couldn't replace it. It wouldn't have been Jesper's first choice, but here they were.

Clearing his throat, Jesper leaned over the piano, closing his hands over the ends of the wire, visualizing them coming together again. It was rare that he manipulated metal like this, and he didn't like it. It felt wrong, bringing up all sorts of memories he'd prefer not to be thinking of right now. Or ever, really. But it was better than getting into a shooting battle with the bodyguard with innocent people like the child and Wylan around.

Wylan was making small talk with the governess, who was having none of it.

Making sure the wire was connected properly, Jesper touched the key, hearing the clear sound that came from it.

"How?" Wylan asked, looking up into Jesper's face. It was closed off against him. But the answer was clear. It had to be. The way he used his guns, the bent crowbar, now the piano wire. Jesper was a Grisha, but for some reason, he hid it. Wylan wished he was in a position of enough trust to ask him why.

Before Jesper could refuse to answer, Alby pushed past both of them. "My turn."

And they all stood there while he made the most cacophonous noise it was possible to make on a piano. Whoever was giving this kid lessons, they were overpaid. Or they didn't make half enough. It was hard to tell.

When Alby was finished, Wylan said, "That's really—that's … He's really good." Both the governess and Jesper looked at him askance for that bold-faced lie. He moved to the piano bench, positioning his hands on the keys. He had missed this, the touch of a fine instrument beneath his fingers, the music it made. "Um, I think that if you had a bit more practice, uh, you could turn that into something like this. Um …" He began to play.

The music took Jesper's breath away. What he loved, even more than chaos and sartorial splendor, was beauty. Art. Music. And this was possibly the most beautiful music he had ever heard, born from the small, delicate fingers of this man he had dismissed again and again.

It made Jesper think of simpler times; of his childhood—the best parts of it. It made him want things he hadn't thought about wanting in a long time.

Jesper looked at Wylan with new eyes. He was no longer just some novice demo man who was fortunate to still have all his fingers. Someone who could create this beauty was—extraordinary. He was someone Jesper wanted to know better, to be closer to. To find a place in his world for.

He wanted Wylan in a way he had never wanted anyone before, and the force of that wanting stopped his breath and the very beat of his heart. The shot had struck true, and nothing would ever be the same again.

When Wylan looked up at him, Jesper dropped his eyes, afraid that everything he'd been feeling would show in his face. He had messed this up at every possible turn. Going forward, he wanted to do better, to be the kind of man who deserved the attention of someone this intelligent, this talented, this exquisite.

He was grateful that Wylan retained some presence of mind and was able to say their goodbyes to the governess—and collect payment, which was a nice touch—because Jesper was still completely stunned by the emotions that had bowled him over while Wylan played, and couldn't have put coherent words together if he'd tried.

Wylan had glimpsed something, a look in Jesper's eyes, when he glanced up from the piano, that he had never seen there before, and his breath caught in his throat, wondering, wishing, hoping. Wanting in a way he hadn't dared to want before.

It was dark by the time they got back to the cemetery, with mist drifting between the crypts and across the graves. Wylan tried not to be afraid—there were real things to fear, no need to be spooked by fancies. It was easier with Jesper there. He didn't seem like the kind of person to let his imagination scare him.

He'd been very quiet all the way back from Appelbroek. Wylan, fresh from an estate which felt so familiar, a child cherished in a way he hadn't been since he was near that age, hadn't had much to say, either.

Wylan was thinking of Alby as they approached the crypt where Kaz would be waiting for them. The boy shouldn't be made to bear the sins of his father. He'd been rather an entertaining child, all things considered. "You know, for the spoiled son of a criminal kingpin, the boy was not that bad. Just a bit energetic, isn't he?"

Jesper chuckled. "That kid was a right little shit."

Without thinking, Wylan reached for his hand, pulling him to a stop. "We can't tell Kaz about Alby."

That was hard for Jesper, he could see. He wasn't used to not telling Kaz things. At last he said, "Child's a demon. But no good will come of it."

It was a major concession. "Thank you."

Looking down into Wylan's face, holding his hand, Jesper wanted … well, it didn't matter what he wanted. Because the man in front of him was too innocent to be marked by the life the Crows led. What was important was letting him go, sending him on his way before he could be irrevocably hurt, changed into something he shouldn't be. "This isn't your fight, you know. Clearing our names, this feud Kaz has with Pekka."

Wylan looked up into Jesper's beautiful face, seeing a depth, an earnestness, that made his heart take wings. "Jesper Fahey, are you worried about me?"

Jesper drew back, not wanting to admit it. "I … saw your face when the Crow Club blew up. You didn't know what you were getting yourself into."

It was an out, if Wylan wanted to take it. But that would mean leaving Jesper behind, never seeing him again, never … never exploring the possibilities offered by the softness in his voice or the concern in his eyes. No. It was too late for Wylan to extricate himself from this man's life, and that meant it was too late for him to extricate himself from the Crows. He would have to learn to be tougher, to find himself a place in this world. He took a step closer, his voice firm. "Yeah, well—well, I know now. And I'm not going anywhere." He let go of Jesper's hand and headed for the crypt.

Jesper watched him go, still feeling the touch of that small hand in his. "Actually, you're walking away for dramatic effect." He couldn't help laughing—it was the kind of thing he would do. Probably he'd been a bad influence on Wylan … and that felt surprisingly good.