**AMBYS 2022 WINNER** He'll never play piano again. That's what virtuoso pianist Zephyr has vowed to himself after escaping Sigma, the sprawling criminal organisation that once held him--and still holds his friends--captive in California's mega-city...
Charlotte put out a hesitant hand, and I took it, letting her pull me out of the chair. There were worse options than staying with a repentant billionairess. I could hide in Sabrina's room all weekend; at least she and Emilia wouldn't hurt me.
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To my surprise, Charlotte did not have a colossal apartment in Huertas, or a penthouse directly on the wharf overlooking the Lyons brewery. We pulled up on a little street in Ángel with a neat row of townhouses, a few blocks south of Mozhgan's clinic. Students' cycles lined the railings, and a few bedroom lights winked on as Charlotte pressed her key into the door.
The apartment was kinda small, and was sparsely decorated in Central American style, a weight bench and barbell rack standing in a corner of the living room.
I hadn't expected Charlotte to own a worn-out apartment in the student quarter, but somehow it seemed to fit her better than an ocean view penthouse. The cozy room, with its shelves piled with books and trinkets, and colorful threadbare rugs dotted around, was lived-in and loved. It reminded me of Seapoint Avenue, though I was never gonna see Will's pretty blue-and-white house again. I moved on from the thought before it took hold of my heart.
Charlotte sank onto the sofa and pulled a blanket onto her, then began to massage her temples, her eyes filming over with fresh tears.
I wandered the room, scanning bookshelves and peering out of window blinds. "I was expecting a mansion in Huertas or something."
"It's Guillermo's place. He didn't want to sell it when he moved to Arenosa. We stay here when we're working in Maria."
Charlotte patted the sofa next to her, tears so close to falling that she tipped her head back.
I cast about my thought-strings, searching for my anger, but it had dissipated into the Maria night during the car ride. I was too tired and heartbroken to refuse Charlotte, and slumped onto the sofa, fighting back my own tears.
My adrenaline had ebbed since we'd left the hospital, leaving my brain-shelves devoid of anything but endless loops of freeze-framed images which appeared every time I blinked. An olive-brown arm on a morphine drip, sad eyes searching the room for me, tears and confessions. It had been so convincing an act. But Will had only ever needed to convince himself.
Despite her usual privileged blundering around everyone else's lives, Charlotte's intentions had been good when she'd made me talk to Will. His connection to Sigma would have been forgivable if it had been just the smuggling job; Charlotte seemed to have forgiven him without a moment's thought.
It was true that Will had very little money, at least, too little to pay Mozhgan's residential clinic fees. I'd seen over the past months how hard he'd worked to pay the mortgage and to live the simplest of lifestyles. If I stretched my mind hard, I could imagine a scenario where he'd truly been so desperate for money that he'd expose himself to a gang. It had happened to Rafa and to Lars Eriksen after all. But there had always been other options.
