Two years later, the gray mist of Seattle was replaced by the golden light of a Viennese afternoon. Maya stood in a glass pavilion that curved like the body of a cello. She raised her bow, and as she played, the sound resonated perfectly against the glass.
In the back of the crowd, a man in a well-tailored coat closed his sketchbook. Julian didn't need to draw the wind anymore. He walked forward, and as Maya caught his eye, she didn't miss a single note. The bridge was finally complete.