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Something settled in my chest that I hadn’t felt in years. Something I never thought I’d find ever again. Silver. I choked at the sight. Happiness.
“I have heart failure, Cromwell.” She smiled sadly. Devastatingly. “My heart is dying.”
“But your music made me see you, Cromwell. It called me to you. The boy who hears color.”
A rush of anger seemed to singe the bones in my body. Because Bonnie Farraday was perfect. Perfection with an imperfect heart.
