The Laurent Estate didn't look like a home anymore. To Ren, standing in the treeline with the cold rain soaking into his skin, it looked like a fortress of glass and arrogance.
He gripped the black jammer Klaus had given him. His knuckles were white. His heart was no longer a frantic mess; it was a steady, rhythmic pulse. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. The same rhythm Jace had tapped on the pipes.
"I'm coming, Jace," Ren whispered.
He found the external junction box near the rose garden—the one place Arthur's security never checked because "no one would dare touch the high-voltage lines." Ren didn't care about the voltage. He cared about the boy in the cellar.
He pressed the button on the jammer.
Pop. Zzzzzt.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, the massive crystal chandeliers in the ballroom flickered. The high-pitched hum of the security cameras died. And then, with a heavy, mechanical clunk, the entire estate plunged into a suffocating, absolute darkness.
In the cellar, the silence was louder than any music Ren had ever played.
Jace lay on the cold stone floor, his hands tucked against his chest. He was counting his heartbeats to keep from screaming. He heard the heavy boots of the guards outside his door, the metallic clink of their keys. He knew they were coming back.
Clack.
The lights didn't just go out. They vanished. The red "emergency" lights that were supposed to kick in remained dark.
"What the—" a guard shouted from the hallway. "Get the flashlights! The grid is down!"
Jace sat up, his breath catching in his throat. In the absolute pitch-black of the cellar, he didn't hear the guards. He heard something else.
From the ventilation duct above his head, a faint, metallic sound began to echo.
Ting. Ting-ting.
It was the sound of a silver spoon hitting a metal pipe.
Jace let out a jagged, breathless laugh, tears stinging his swollen eyes. "You crazy piano player," he whispered into the dark. "You actually came back."
Ren was moving through the servant's corridors like a shadow. He didn't need a flashlight. He had spent nineteen years memorizing every inch of this cage. He knew exactly how many steps it was from the kitchen to the cellar stairs.
He reached the heavy oak door. Two guards were fumbling with their belts, their flashlights cutting uselessly through the gloom.
"Who's there?!" one shouted, swinging his light toward the stairs.
Ren didn't hide. He stepped into the beam of light, his torn silk shirt looking like a battle flag. He wasn't the "Golden Boy." He was the nightmare Arthur Laurent had created.
"Give me the keys," Ren said, his voice as cold as the rain outside.
"Mr. Laurent? You... you need to go back upstairs, sir. Your father—"
"My father is a man who thinks he can own the wind," Ren said, stepping forward until the guard's flashlight was inches from his chest. "But the wind just blew your lights out. Give. Me. The. Keys."
The guard hesitated, looking at the boy who used to be afraid of his own shadow. Something in Ren's eyes—the raw, "Ghost of Berlin" fire—made the man's hand shake.
He handed over the heavy ring of keys.
Ren didn't waste a second. He threw the door open and sprinted down the stone steps. "JACE!"
"REN!"
They collided in the dark. Ren didn't care about the blood on Jace's face or the dirt on his clothes. He crashed into Jace, his arms wrapping around his neck, holding him so tight it was hard to breathe.
"I have the passport," Ren sobbed into Jace's shoulder. "I have the map. We're leaving, Jace. Right now."
Jace pulled back just enough to look at Ren in the dark, his hands—his precious, unbroken drumming hands—framing Ren's face. "You came back for me. You stayed in the noise."
"I am the noise now," Ren whispered.
They turned to the stairs, but the sound of a heavy, rhythmic clapping echoed from the top of the cellar steps.
A single, powerful spotlight clicked on, blinding them both. Arthur Laurent stood there, a revolver in one hand and a smug, murderous grin on his face.
"A beautiful performance, Ren," Arthur said, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "Truly. But every concerto has to end. And I think it's time for the final bow."