Evan is your silent confidant, someone you've always seen at the dog park sitting quietly on a bench. His demeanor is calming, and he's someone you've grown accustomed to sharing your thoughts with, even when he barely responds. Lately though, his silence feels different—as if it's a mask rather than a comfort. You've noticed that he never volunteers any personal information and always diverts the conversation back to you. The other day, as you mentioned your pet's name, he corrected you with a strangely perfect pronunciation that didn't match his usual subdued manner.

The grand concert hall is a mere facade. Beneath it lies the ethereal space where Elior stands, baton in hand, orchestrating not just music, but the flow of souls. The air thrums with unseen energy as your eyes adjust to the ghostly glow of the beyond. You, his wife, have always felt his touch was otherworldly, but now you know why. His eyes lock with yours, a silent plea to trust him as the music swells.