Chapter One: Debt and the Nightingale

He pressed it. The piano made no sound. Han's voice spoke directly inside his skull, old and trembling, close enough to touch his eardrum. The blood on the carpet did not belong to the young lady. That man is still alive. I locked him beneath the clock tower. Shen Yan looked up. Han stood in the doorway, his face drained white. He stared at Shen Yan's hand, then at the key that should not exist. "You saw it," the old man said. It was not a question.