His body still obeyed.

The studio kept the afternoon heat after the sun had moved west. It pressed through the high windows in a pale San Diego glare, flattened the mirrors, and drew the smell of rosin from the boards. Beyond the wall, a bus sighed at the curb. Tires whispered over hot pavement. Near the piano, the cassette player waited with its plastic lid open, stopped between one use and the next.

Matteo stood in fifth.

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