After rehearsal, Emi drops me off at home before racing to the local middle school to teach a few after school lessons. I want nothing more than to return to the dingy shop where I first stumbled upon the Silverenn Songs. I'm certain that's where I saw the necklace from the photo. But I ignore Silverenn's pull and practice until my shoulders ache and fingertips bear the imprint of the metal strings.

For once, the apartment feels eerily still, with only the sounds of my instrument slipping between the thin walls until every room bears Mozart's music. Time drags past as I drill every fast passage, every shift in dynamics or tone, all the notes I missed during rehearsal. After pulling myself through page after page after page, cementing finger patterns into my bones, it's past eight p.m., and I've practiced for three hours. I stretch my sore arms, placing my instrument down in its case to take a nap, then gather my wallet and phone.

In the other room, I hear the door open.

"Cerise, I'm back," Emi calls.

I exit my room, zipping a thin jacket to cover my tank top since I'm too lazy to change before heading back into the world. Emi places a bag of groceries on the table, mostly boxes of choco-chip chewy granola bars, mac n' cheese, and ramen, though I do detect a bag of salad for "health."

"Ran to the store after the lessons," Emi says.

"Oh, cool."

Emi glances me up and down. "Are you headed somewhere?"

"I was just going to check out that clue."

"What clue?"

"From the box? The picture of the necklace?"

Anger hardens on Emi's face. "Are you kidding me? You need to be preparing for rehearsal."

"I just practiced for like, three hours."

Emi scoffs. "Sure you did." She turns to the table and begins removing boxes from the plastic bag.

"No, really! I practiced the entire time you were gone."

"And somehow, I have a hard time believing that." Emi whirls to face me, tears shining in her eyes. "You never practice, Cerise. How many times have you lifted your instrument for more than ten minutes in the last three months? How many?"

"I don't kn—"

"You're right. You don't. Because the fact is, Cerise, it seems that you just don't care anymore. For a while, I thought maybe you were just incapable of caring about anything. But clearly, you care about this crazy treasure that probably doesn't even exist! When will you stop living in a dream world? When will you realize that you have to put in at least a little effort to get anywhere in life?"

"Hold on a minute, Emi. We've been trying for years, haven't we? We've leaped at countless opportunities and only fallen on our faces. Now, a very unique opportunity has presented itself. It's the chance to uncover Silverenn's treasure. And I, for one, am going to seize that opportunity."

"You know what other opportunity has presented itself?" A beat passes. Emi pants in the silence, anger rolling off her in waves. "This opportunity for our trio. Even if you want to seize other opportunities, don't ruin this chance for Martin and me. And if you want out of our group, then fine. But don't play this game of 'I'm-in I'm out.' Either you dedicate yourself to the trio, or you don't. It doesn't go both ways. Show a little respect to your fellow musicians for a change." Emi storms off to her room. Right before her hand lands on the doorknob, she pauses. "And even if you did practice for three hours, you should get some sleep and be well rested for tomorrow's rehearsal instead of galavanting across the city."

She disappears inside her room with a bang. The sound reverberates for a few seconds before fizzling into silence. Alone in the living room, I stare at the front door. To leave, or not to leave.

I glance back at my room before making my decision. Maybe Emi's okay with the mundane, everyday grind, but I am not. A little treasure hunting won't ruin our chance at a job. Besides, I already practiced for three hours. I might injure myself if I try to do more.

After slipping my sneakers on, I head for the door.

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It's only a fifteen minute walk downtown, though as dusk advances and shadows creep into the spaces between the buildings, I begin to regret my choice to sell my car two months ago. This part of town is shady enough during the day, let alone when it's dark at night.

Or Emi could've come with me and allowed us to use her car. That would've solved the problem in an instant.

Irritation, mixed with an uncoiling anxiety, simmers beneath my skin. Every shift in the shadows against the rundown, stone and wooden exterior of the shops makes my fears rise an inch more. I grip my house keys in my hand, ready to strike anyone who comes close.

It occurs to me that the unnamed shop might not even be open at this time, in which case, this entire trip is pointless. But I can't just sit around in my room twiddling my thumbs, and I'm too wired to sleep. Maybe the clerk will have forgotten to lock the door. Or perhaps he'll be working late. There's just got to be a way to look at the necklace.

As I walk alongside the street, hugging the graffiti-covered brick wall to my left, whispers and scuffling feet filter into the air. An SUV emerges from the darkness, parked in the center of the road, on the faded yellow line dividing the two lanes. Two women and men carry instrument cases from a store while another chats with someone in the driver seat.

I press my back against the brick wall, then instantly regret it as something slimy brushes my fingertips. I hold back a grimace, instead focusing on the store. It's the same one I bought the music in. There's still no sign in front of it.

The car turns on, headlights spewing yellow light in two beams before it. I recognize the man chatting with the driver, his white beard and the side of his face. He turns to talk to the woman at his side, and I get an even better view of his face.

Definitely the same guy as before.

My brow furrows, watching the car drive away with instruments loaded inside. It's sort of odd, considering the events yesterday at the warehouse. I'm debating whether I should go over to the shop and still ask to purchase the necklace when a burly man leaves the shop, door slamming behind him.

My eyes widen. This can no longer be a coincidence. He was at the warehouse, involved in loading the instruments. So I guess they supply the unnamed shop with musical instruments. But it's odd that the white-hearded man doesn't advertise that he sells instruments. He could probably make some decent money. I mean, the nearest instrument shop is at least two hours away from here. And if he offered repairs and other supplies, all the musicians in the area could save some time and mileage.

Unless he doesn't want people to know what he's doing because it's, I don't know, illegal.

Despite my brain demanding I leave the area, curiosity makes me creep closer. My body shudders with adrenaline, and I press my hands harder against the brick to steady myself.

Their voices are still muffled, so I take another step, and another, and another...

My shoe scuffs against the ground. The burly man's head whips in my direction. His hand dips to his pocket, and a moment later, he points a gun into the darkness.

"Who's there?" he says.

The woman elbows him. "Dude, no one's there."

"Put the gun away," the old man growls.

"No, someone's there. We can't have anyone..."

"Put the gun away before someone actually does come along and spot you. It's not a crime to stand on the sidewalk at night," the old man says. Reluctantly, the burly man obeys.

The trio start to walk inside the shop. I inch my way backward, step, by step, by step, by step...

Squish! I look down. The outline of some bag resides beneath my shoe. A gun cocks in the night. I glance back at the trio, who are now walking back onto the street, the burly man and now the woman pointing guns at me.

I run. Adrenaline courses through my veins as bullets fire in my direction. For once, I'm grateful for the darkness that cloaks me as I run around a corner. Trash cans line the side, and I jump inside the nearest one.

There's more squishing beneath me. A foul stench engulfs me, sending bile up my throat. I force my hand to root around until it comes in contact with something hard. I chuck it as hard as I can in the opposite direction. It pings against the wall just as the man and woman race into the alley.

"That way!" the man shouts, and they follow the noise down the opposite road, their footsteps fading into the distance.

I wait, holding my breath, until I no longer can hear them. Then, I drag myself from the trash can. My stomach shifts, and I feel an overwhelming urge to throw up. Still, I stumble down the road, managing to hold down my daily dose of mac n' cheese.

Emi's asleep by the time I arrive home. I peer inside her room, and she's passed out on her bed, a score on the floor beside her slack fingers that hang over the side of her comforter. I start the shower, then evaluate the state of my wallet and phone. Phone, case, and ID cards can be cleaned from the nasty residue and odor clinging to them. My wallet I can just throw out — I bought when I was, like, fifteen. There's no cash in it, anyway.

A good long shower gives plenty of time to reevaluate my life choices. The most pressing issues I'm faced with are these:

One, the next clue in the Silverenn treasure leads me to what is most likely an illegal instrument vendor.

Two, the old man will probably be wary if I show up tomorrow at his store and start looking through stuff after what happened tonight.

Three, I probably shouldn't mess with these people because they're probably totally fine with killing me.

Which leads to a dilemma. I want to, no, need to find the treasure. But it also isn't very safe. If there's any suspicion that I saw them last night, who knows what they'll do to me.

So, I just have to ensure that I'm not suspicious when I go back to the shop tomorrow.