His song crescendos, and I recognize the melody. I hum along, for I’ve heard it in my sleep. I’ve heard it play across the hall softly in the wee hours of the night. It’s beautiful, and I don’t want it to stop. The blue light slowly fades until it disappears back into the smoke. When it all dissipates, I look at Oli. Her eyes are misty. “That’s my son. That’s Henley.”
GASP
