I inhale a deep breath. My instrument, resting on my shoulder, rises with the motion before dropping into a giant cue. Bow hair strikes the string in repeated accents while my third finger attacks the fingerboard. Unrelenting vibrato pierces the air, bounces off the scattered furniture. My fingers tumble from seventh position, all the way down the fingerboard and across to the c string. My bow digs into a rumbling drone, a puzzle piece that completes the chord Emi and Martin play. The pitches merge into one reverberating note. I can feel it oscillating in my bones. The sound peters out, though the echo lingers for several seconds longer.

"That... was awesome," Emi says. She tucks her instrument under her arm and lets her bow dangle from her finger. Her chest rises and falls as she breathes in.

"I really felt the music," Martin says. His eyes are still closed, his preferred stance while performing.

"I don't think there's a thing we need to rehearse on our final piece," Emi says, dumbfounded. She squints at her music pages, turning them slowly. "Nice job, everyone. We're in good shape for Saturday night."

"Is there anything else we should work on?" I ask. I feign looking at the many pages for something noteworthy.

"Well... there are a few spots we could go over for dynamics and to get the balance better." Her brow furrows, and she lifts her pencil, scribbling a few things in her music. Pages rustle as she flips them, followed by more lead scratching the paper.

Hunger pangs in my belly. I tap my phone screen on, noting that it's a quarter to one. Our morning rehearsal started at eleven, with the idea that we'd end around four in the afternoon. However, Emi didn't anticipate my sudden enthusiasm for the music. In fact, I woke up at eight a.m. to practice while she was out teaching a couple lessons at the middle school. I hope it's enough to warrant an early lunch, and one that isn't composed of choco-cherry chewy chip granola bars.

As if reading my mind, Emi glances at her watch, then stares vacantly at the music for a second. "You know what, we can call rehearsal for today. As long as we clean up a few things tomorrow and Friday, we'll be in good shape for Saturday night."

I love the pure disbelief in Emi's voice. It's satisfying enough to make me practice more — almost.

"Shall we rest up for tomorrow, then? We don't want to strain our hands," I say.

Or brains. Or sanity.

"Yes, the hands," Martin mumbles. "Must protect the hands."

Emi glances between us. Her eyes dip for a fleeting moment to her own hands, which shake as they hover by her sheet music. She snatches the pages off the stand, ending the tremors. "Yeah, yeah I guess that's fine. Let's go get some lunch."

She heads straight for her music case, face hardened in concentration, as if she were still playing her violin. A pang of sympathy goes through me for her, but I've learned it's better to not mention it.

I place my instrument inside its case. My cleaning cloth squeaks up and down on the string to form a steady, tinny beat, a noise to rival any horror movie soundtrack. Slowly, my mind refocuses on what this lack of rehearsal means. I can now place my attention on getting inside the unnamed store. If I play my cards right, maybe Emi will join me, too.

Emi waits for me at the door, a smile now on her lips. I can sense her confusion as we walk through the building's vacant halls.

"I don't know what you did," she says. "But you sounded so much better. The passion in your playing really shone through. You should play like that more often." She takes a breath, and I brace myself for the crack about practicing more to get more gigs, like herself. Already, a retort is forming in my mind: you might be getting more gigs now, but it won't last if practicing destroys your hands.

"It's like you're finally playing like you used," Emi finally whispers.

Her sincerity takes me by surprise, stuns me into silence the entire car ride home.

We have a leisurely lunch, eating sandwiches around our rugged wooden kitchen table. Silence reigns in our small apartment, except for the shared crunching of lettuce. My mind spins as it calculates the best way to bring up the subject of treasure hunting.

"So... what do you want to do this afternoon?" Emi says, speaking first. "You're probably right about not over practicing."

I shrug. "I don't know. Maybe go out for a bit." My mouth widens to get another bite of bread, ham, and cheese.

Emi's eyes widen. "Cerise, you're not thinking about..."

"Shopping?" Or was she about to suggest Silverenn? There's no going back after mentioning shopping. Might as well go full steam ahead. "There isn't much else to do around here."

Emi pauses. "Shopping. You want to go shopping."

I shrug again. "Like I said, not much to do."

Emi chews a few bites, swallows. She stares down at the floppy, blond bread on her plate, her brow deeply furrowed.

"Cerise, did you go shopping last night?"

"Why?" I busy myself by reaching for another cheese slice.

"There was like... this really weird smell in the bathroom this morning. Like, it reeked in there."

"Okay." My lips twitch, and I cram more of my sandwich in my mouth to keep from smiling. It's funny that the lingering odor makes her think of shopping.

"Either something was boiled in trash, or it was really bad smelling chemicals from new clothes."

Boiled in trash isn't too far from the truth. I bide my time chewing while I formulate a response. I could pretend the smell was from clothes and not hiding in a rusted municipal waste barrel, but she might get upset if she thought I was irresponsibly spending money. And I don't really want to be on her bad side after I got on her good side during rehearsal. But I also don't have a good excuse for why the bathroom smells that way.

"It's not clothes," I say after swallowing. "I, uh, got carried away with a new air freshening scent."

"Air freshening?"

"Don't worry, I got rid of it. Just got tired of smelling, well, bathroom smell all the time and wanted to try something new."

Emi places an elbow on the table, clutching her forehead. "Please don't play around with stuff like that. That smell made me want to vomit."

And you weren't even the one boiled in it.

"So plans for today," I say, trying to circle the topic back. "If not shopping, what else is there to do around here?"

"We could go to a museum."

"Boring." I yawn to emphasize it. "Besides, the last one gave me the creeps."

"Play a game?"

"Which game? I spy? It's not like we have board games or cards."

Emi huffs. "Then let's go to a bowling alley. There's one downtown."

"And spend money?" I raise an eyebrow. "Might as well go to Sephora."

Emi's quiet for a long time. I'm about to bring up the treasure when she sighs.

"Silverenn?"

Bingo. I pretend to consider it, then slowly nod. "Yeah, I guess that'll do."

═════∘✧◦ 🎻◦✧∘═════

Fifteen minutes later, we're back in the downtown area of Dewhurst, dodging trash cans and litter amidst the cracked sidewalk and graffiti-covered buildings. The street isn't nearly as menacing during the day as it was last night. A few people dot the otherwise vacant street, and they look similar to us, ripped jeans and t-shirts, nothing that screams "gang" or "organized crime."

"So," Emi begins, holding up a hand to her eyes to shield them from the sun. "You're sure that you spotted the necklace in the shop."

"Positive. Unless there's a duplicate of it. But this is the only place I know to start at."

The shop draws closer. Anxiety begins to prick my fingertips. What if the man suspects I was here last night? Am I endangering myself by returning to the store? What about Emi?

I start to question whether coming is truly the best idea. But it's too late to back out now. Besides, this is the only way to find the treasure. And I want to find the treasure. I need to find it. This is the first goal I've set for myself in a long time, one that might actually be in reach. To fail once again...

My thoughts scatter. It's as if someone smashed a hammer in my brain, and all the shards flew from my brain. The building that housed the unnamed shop stands before me, but there's nothing inside anymore, no shelves, no cluttered tables or cabinets, no cash register, and no creepy old guy. I pull on the door, but it's locked. I tug again, making it rattle against the doorframe, but it holds fast.

"It's... gone." Emi sounds relieved behind me. I spin around to face her.

"I don't know what happened." It was here last night, unless they had already packed up and were just moving the last things from the shop.

Or maybe they thought it was too dangerous to stay after being watched last night and decided to change locations.

"Well, I guess that's that. Want to go to the library?" Emi swings her hands back and forth.

"The library?"

"We can't work on the Silverenn clue if there's no shop."

"And we will do what at the library?"

"Read." I continue to stare at Emi until she shrugs and says, "at least it's free."

Free. Funny how everything has to be free, and yet my life is anything but free.

"Look, we're not going to solve anything standing around like this," Emi says when I don't reply, just continue staring at the empty shop.

"Maybe I can get inside," I say aloud. I start for the door. Maybe they left the necklace behind by accident.

Please be left behind. Please, I need that necklace to be there.

"Cerise." Emi loosely grabs my arm. "That's breaking and entering. I know you want to find the treasure, but there's nothing we can do if the shop is gone." My jaw clenches. "Please, it's not worth it. Come on."

A beat passes. I crumple, my shoulders sagging under the weight of my frustration. It's not fair that the shop is gone. I was so close to solving the next clue, and now, it's ripped away from me.

If I hadn't been so careless last night, maybe this wouldn't have happened.

I turn my back on the store as tears begin to well in my eyes. I try to tamp them down, but the more I think about things, the more upset I become.

As Emi and I turn back, following the cracked lines in the sidewalk back to the road, my eyes catch on something across the street. There's a dull green jeep parked on the side, and two men sit in the front.

Both are watching the shop, watching us as we retreat down the sidewalk. Anxiety creeps in, replacing my frustration, and I hurry my pace slightly. They saw me try the door; they know I was trying to get inside. And now, they've seen Emi with me.

A sickening knot forms in my gut. Emi seems oblivious to everything, her face relaxed and an ease to her stride, but it won't last long if these people come after us.

I brave one more glance over my shoulder. The jeep faces the opposite direction from us, but a long arm snakes out the jeep's window, adjusting the side mirror so it is angled at us. A shiver runs down my spine. Their eyes remain on us until we round the street corner.