Near midnight, he stepped onto the balcony.
The storm wind lifted his hair, cold rain pinpricking his face.
The city below glittered through the downpour — endless windows, endless lives continuing without him.
He gripped the railing, knuckles white.
The metal was slick beneath his fingers.
A whisper rose behind the hiss of rain.
It wasn't Elise's voice.
It was the other one — the one that had haunted each life before.
"Go on, Adrian. The fall is quick. The silence after is sweeter than applause."
He closed his eyes, and for a heartbeat the whisper felt right.
The thought of silence was almost merciful.
"You've sung enough. You've played enough. Let go."
Then, from somewhere within the storm, another sound broke through — faint at first, then clearer: the tune of the uneven waltz from the building across the street.
Someone was still playing.
A beginner, missing notes, starting again and again, stubbornly refusing to stop.
The whisper in the wind faltered.
Adrian's breath hitched.
He lowered his head, rain dripping from his chin.
He spoke softly into the storm.
"She wouldn't want me to end with silence."
He stepped back from the railing.