Craspokesuddenly.Hervoicewasn’tloud,butinthequietbasementithstartlingcrity.

        Elianblinked.“What?”

        “Slipknot’sstyledestroysstrings.Intwomonths,I’llburnthroughatleastthreepacks.”Craliftedherhead.Behindherrimlessgsses,hereyesfredwithastubborn,unyieldingfireasshemethisgazewithoutbagdown.“Ipickthebrand.Youpay.AndifIpractitilmyfingerssplit,you’reresponsiblefanizingmyotesuntilmyhandsheal.”

        Forased,Elianlookedgenuinelycaughtoffguard.

        Thenhedroppedhisheadandughed—low,pleased,thesoundrollingoutofhimlikeithadbeenwaitingthereallong.Whenhesmiled,hiseyescurved,anditwaseasytoseewhyhalftheschoolwentcrazyoverhim.

        “Deal.”Elianheldouthisrighthand,hisgrinbrightenoughtosting.“Tomorrow,twop.m.Ximending—PyerRehearsalStudio.I’llbewaiting.”

        Crastaredathislong-fingeredhand,drebreath—

        thenreachedoutwithherownhand,slightlyroughfromyearsofpressingstrings,andgrippedhishard.

        Justlikethat,ayouthtransa—packedwithgunpowder,sweat,andheavymetal—wasofficiallysealed.

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