Hearing back from the Flow State Dance Company brings more apprehension than joy. Firstly, because their email only invited her for a physical audition and interview. Secondly, they wrote nothing about her video. They didn't even acknowledge receipt of it.

To that Annika says, "sometimes, no news is good news."

"Exactly," Erika agrees. "And I think they wouldn't have called you in if they didn't see potential in you. I believe they were impressed by your video—as they should be—and want to see for themselves what you're all about."

Annika finishes, "so, sweetheart, you have yourself a hearty breakfast and go give them hell."

Her self-confidence somewhat bolstered by her aunt's and mother's encouragement, Emerynne squares her shoulders and nods. 

Give them hell, she shall.

While the Kaufmann sisters clean up around the house, tidy their rooms, and get ready for another day, Emerynne prepares herself for the test ahead. At Esoteric Herbals, Erika doesn't need much convincing to let Noemi off work so she can go with Emerynne to Obertraun. In the two months since settling in Hallstatt, today will be the first time Emerynne rides the ferry across the town's scenic lake.

The tickets are cheaper than the bus passes in Vienna. The girls choose a seat near the front-end railing of the ferry. The ride is peaceful, the wind refreshing, the sound of the engine is but a low hum. Meditative, Emerynne feels herself relax and a new wave of confidence washes her previous unease away.

I'm gonna get that job and reclaim my dreams, is her new chant.

Even though Obertraun looks just like Hallstatt from across the lake, as soon as they enter the main thoroughfare, Emerynne is struck by how Obertraun is more. The roads are wider, the crowds thicker, the town hall grander, the people louder; it is so much more of everything that Hallstatt is.

Noemi is familiar with this town, guiding Emerynne through its commercial district right to the company building. Flow State Dance Company is housed inside a modular double-story structure of steel and stone. Through the glass, Emerynne can see neutral-pastel interiors. Noemi ushers her in through the front doors and into the main office, where the receptionist behind the lilac counter beams at them.

"Noemi," she says, coming around and pulling Noemi into a hug, "it's been a while."

"Yeahhh..." Noemi's face and how she awkwardly pats the woman's back belie her discomfiture. As they pull apart, she quickly rearranges her expression into a smile and asks, "how have you been, Jodie?"

"Well, you know, busy, busy," the woman says, heaving an exaggerated sigh, "but still good. Lucas is also good... we moved in together last month."

"Oh... that's... that's nice."

Noticing Noemi falter, Emerynne interjects, "hi, umm... I'm here for my audition. Emerynne Kaufmann."

Jodie looks her up and down, as though doubting the claim. "Yes, of course," she says finally. "Why don't you take a seat here while I go inform them?"

"Sure, thanks," Emerynne says, lowering herself into one of the plush sofas near the wall. As Jodie disappears up the stairway next to the counter, her heels tap-tapping, Emerynne calls Noemi and pats the empty sofa beside her. "Come, sit down." Noemi does so, still looking a little shaken. Gently, Emerynne prods, "how do you know Jodie?"

Stare fixed on her hands that are fidgeting in her lap, Noemi sighs. "We're part of the same circles... and, she's dating my ex."

"I see..." For a while Emerynne contemplates her next few lines. She wraps a comforting arm around Noemi's shoulder. "I think... this is sign for you to move on."

Noemi's voice is soft, low. "I have moved on."

"Doesn't seem like it," Emerynne responds. Then, painting a bright grin on her face, her voice enlivened, she imparts, "I'll tell you what, we're gonna put you on a dating app after this... put all this gorgeousness out there in the world!"

Mouth lifting a little at the corners, Noemi nods. "Okay..."

"Come on, chin up!" apprises Emerynne. "You're such a catch you'll be reeling in some great, big fish in no time. And then, we can go on double-dates together! We'll have more picnics—Matthias and I, you and your fish."

Noemi lets out a small giggle. "I'd like that."

"Obviously! It's gonna be awesome, okay?"

"Yeah."

Noemi drops her head on Emerynne's shoulder, and they sit huddled together that way, until Jodie returns. "They're ready for you," she pronounces curtly. "If you'll follow me through here."

Emerynne gets up, but pauses and turns around to face Noemi again. "You don't have to wait here if you don't want to..."

Wriggling her bottom deeper into the sofa's cushiony seat, Noemi leans back and asserts, "I want to. Now go kick some ass and tell me all about it."

"I will," promises Emerynne. Heart swelling in jubilation, she goes after Jodie.

On the second floor, the room is large, spacious, and empty excepting the long, pastel-blue table behind which sit four people. Another chair is placed about six feet away from the table. One of them, a bony, bespectacled woman glances up whereas the other three keep talking amongst themselves.

"Ah, Emerynne..." she says as she reads through the papers in her hands, "...Kaufmann. Please take a seat."

"Thank you," says Emerynne, sitting on the chair. The parallel conversation ceases and all eyes are now on her.

The woman waves a hand at Jodie. "Could you go get Fynn from Studio B, Jodie? Thank you."

Nodding courteously, Jodie makes herself scarce, leaving Emerynne alone in the presence of who she presumes will be her interviewers. Fear begins creeping into her. Soon, she feels like an injured deer bleeding out under the watchful glares of four ravenous vultures. They are waiting for her die... They want to throw her off her game, however, she is determined not to let them.

"I'm Talia. I'm an acrobat," the sharp woman says.

The person to her left starts right after. "I'm Kendarie. I teach breakdancing and prefer they and them pronouns, please."

Emerynne only has time to nod in understanding before the next person speaks. "My name is Nikolas. I'm the Salsa and Cancan expert here. It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too." Emerynne reinstates his smile.

"Jenna," the last woman tersely articulates, lifting her chin and staring down her nose at Emerynne. Standing, she rounds the table and takes languid, calculated steps towards her, all the while studying her. Her dark eyes are severe, her back straight, and figure lithe; she comes prowling like a jaguar. "So, you are a ballerina..." Emerynne doesn't know if that is a question or an observation, therefore she stays quiet, eyes locked with Jenna's. Jenna, in turn, carries on, "how long have you not danced?"

"Uh... like, two years?"

Jenna wrinkles her nose. "Are you not sure?"

Swallowing, Emerynne repeats, with certainty, "two years."

"Ugh..." Jenna tsks, slowly walking around Emerynne's chair. "Up!" she abruptly commands behind her. Emerynne is startled, but she stands channeling as much poise as she can muster. "Give me your best relevé and hold it until I tell you otherwise," says Jenna, now in front of Emerynne.

The other judges – as Emerynne sees them – are a silent and attentive audience. Emerynne lifts herself on the toes of both feet, her arms above her head, her hands and fingers gracefully loose.

"A little stiff..." murmurs Jenna, intent in her scrutiny of Emerynne's posture. Louder, she queries, "and how long have you been doing ballet?"

Still in relevé, Emerynne replies, "Austrian ballet since I was ten. Russian ballet since twelve."

"Hmm..." is all Jenna says. Presently, Emerynne hears the double-doors to the room open behind her. All four judges turn their attention to whoever has come in. "Ah, Fynn," Jenna addresses the boy who finally walks into Emerynne's line of sight. "At ease, Emerynne," says Jenna. Placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, she introduces him, "this is my son, Fynn. Our star dancer. He will be your partner for the time being."

Partner?

Shaking hands with the boy, Emerynne notices the similarities between him and Jenna. From their ebony-skinned and lean bodies, their deep-set, obsidian eyes, and their square jawlines, to their thick brows and the dense curls on their heads – they are unmistakably related.

While Jenna seats herself behind the desk again, Nikolas now stands. Indicating Fynn to remove the chair that Emerynne was sitting on, he says, "so, Emerynne, we saw you perform alone. We saw a lot of expression and emotion in your video. Now, we'd like to see how you work alongside a partner. We want to see technique, we want to see your ability to perceive the motions of your co-dancer and complement them."

"We want to see how you operate under certain bounds," appends Talia, bringing out a speaker from below the desk. As she connects her phone to it, she says, "we picked your partner, we choose the music, and we decide the theme... show us what you can do with your remaining freedom. How well can you think on your feet?"

Surreptitiously, Emerynne practices some breathing exercises to keep her anxiety at bay. A light touch on her arm draws her attention to Fynn. "Relax, honey. They don't bite," he says, shooting her a wink. Emerynne doesn't believe him.

Talia hits play; the music that fills the hall is faint, its dissonant beats steadily picking up. Nikolas settles down and declares, "we chose the theme 'battle'. Give us a fight scene."

As she tries to familiarize herself to the track that has reached its full volume and find a rhythm in it, Emerynne observes Fynn, anticipating his moves. He throws his hands out on either side of him, his fists balled to give the impression of holding weapons of some sort, ready to engage in mock combat. She walks forward, her strides commandeered by the drumbeats – each step freeing her body from her mind and its apprehensions, so that when she ultimately takes her starting stance, her surroundings dissolve. The judges, the mirrors on the inner walls, the upholstery, and the pillars, all fall away; only the ground beneath her feet and the imaginary double-swords in her hands remain. Fynn is handsome in his visage and striking in his form, but nothing that can make Emerynne linger. As each takes the other in, the singers unleash a war cry so fierce that it shakes the hall up.

Emerynne and Fynn run at each other. He swings, she ducks. She jabs, he parries. Their movements are deliberate and flowy, more for aesthetic than for offense or defense. They strike at once and catch the other's nonexistent weapons, push off and separate. She circles him, her eyes never leaving his keen ones. Both of them are almost attuned to the down strokes and the verses of the war song, the footwork and motions of each other. Spinning, clashing, leaping, they move around one another like two leaves caught in the same wind.

Her febrile skin and her shaky legs are becoming distressing, but she shoves the sensation aside and lets her body surrender to the singers and their chanting magic. Her sinews are the puppet-strings that pull her bones to the sway of the puppeteering musicians casting their sounds from the speaker. Their voices and chords are vast, so vast, the music open and expansive. If she is a little petrel drifting in the current, their music is the sky. If she is a little minnow navigating the jets, their music is the sea.

She flies and she swims, small in such vastness.

The music simply stops in the middle of a verse, taking Emerynne by surprise. "Okay, enough!" booms Talia's voice.

Heaving and panting, Emerynne returns to her place in front of the blue desk. Talia is looking at the other three judges, a silent conversation underway. Nikolas's face is devoid of any expression. Jenna, her lips pursed and arms crossed, keeps her stern gaze trained on Emerynne. Kendarie has dropped their head into their hands. "Heavy, very heavy," Emerynne hears them muttering.

It is Nikolas who breaks the silence. "So... that was intense. But good technique." He looks on either side of him, questioning his colleagues, "guys?"

Ultimately picking their head up off their hands, Kendarie begins clapping. "Go on," they say, "give yourself a round of applause."

Fynn directs his claps towards Emerynne and she cannot help but follow along. The other judges join in shortly after. Smiles break out on all four's faces, although she has the slight suspicion that the one Jenna sports is reserved for her son. Nevertheless, Emerynne finds that she doesn't mind; Fynn is an incredibly talented dancer and his mother is right in being proud of him.

"Wonderful!" Talia exclaims over the noise. "Absolutely wonderful!"

Pride rushing through her bloodstream, Emerynne takes Fynn's hand and pulls him down to curtsy with herself. When the celebration comes to a close, Jenna reverts to her rhadamanthine persona and queries, "can you start tomorrow?"

"Yes, ma'am."