Venice, 1652 — After the Pull
The workshop felt hollow after Jakob's voice faded out of the air.
Not silent — Venice was never silent — but hollow, as if the echo of something miraculous had pushed out all ordinary sound and left only the memory of resonance behind. A strange, trembling calm clung to the walls. Even the broken pane on the floor seemed to pulse faintly, like a body still remembering breath.
Luca sat with his back against the wall, sweat cooling on his neck, breath slowly evening out. His arms felt like glass rods that had been stretched too far, one moment from snapping. His mind swam in unfamiliar emptiness — the missing memory, taken to save Jakob, hung like an open window inside him.
Elena knelt near the basin, dipping her fingers into the still water. She stared at the ripples her hand made as though they might reveal something about herself she no longer remembered. She knew she once stood on the Rialto Bridge as a girl, lantern light flickering across the canal. But now, when she tried to grasp that moment, she found only a blank whiteness, a hole shaped like wonder.
She closed her eyes.The loss stung.But Jakob lived.
Matteo stood guard just outside the workshop door, shifting from foot to foot like a restless dog protecting the wounded inside. Chiara leaned beside him, arms crossed, brow furrowed in concentration. Their conversation was low, tense, full of questions they weren't yet ready to speak aloud.
And then there was Kessel.
He had stepped only just beyond the threshold, enough to let the night's cold air wash across his face. He watched the canal, the way the reflections shivered faintly — as though Venice itself were still vibrating from the counter-song.
He did not move.
He did not leave.
He simply waited.
As if waiting for the city to breathe an answer into him.
The quiet broke only when Matteo finally burst into the room.
"Explain," he demanded, looking at Luca, then Elena, then Kessel. "Explain what happens now."
Luca ran a hand through his hair. "Now… we wait."
"For what?" Matteo snapped. "For the boy to wake up? For Vienna to send soldiers? For the whole damn lagoon to crack open?"
Elena stood slowly. "Matteo—"
"No." He jabbed a finger toward Kessel. "You. You didn't stop us from saving him. You didn't interfere. Why? What do you want from us now?"
Kessel turned from the canal.
He stepped inside.
His boots made no sound on the wooden floor.
"Matteo Volani," he said softly, "I want what you want."
Matteo bristled. "You want the boy safe? Liar."
Kessel did not blink. "I want him alive. And free."
Matteo faltered.
Chiara stared. "Free… from Vienna?"
Kessel nodded once.
A strange, brittle silence filled the workshop.
"You said the Chancellor wants him alive," Luca said cautiously.
"He does," Kessel agreed.
"But not free," Elena murmured.
Kessel met her gaze. "No. Not free."
Chiara stepped forward, crossing her arms. "Why tell us this? Why betray your own Commission?"
"Because," Kessel said, "I have seen what Vienna does when it fears falling behind. And I have seen what they do to children who hear too much."
Elena froze.
Matteo's breath stuttered.
Luca whispered, "Jakob."
Kessel nodded.
"Vienna will try to bring him back to the chamber," he said. "They will not ask permission. They will not wait to understand. They will push him harder until he shatters the way all fragile things shatter under pressure."
Elena's hands tightened into fists. "We will not let that happen."
Kessel stepped forward.
"I am not your enemy," he said quietly. "But I cannot protect Jakob alone."
Matteo scoffed. "Why should we trust you?"
"Because," Kessel said, unbuttoning his coat slowly, carefully, "I am betraying the most powerful man in Austria to stand in this room with you."
He drew out the sealed letter — the one bearing the Chancellor's mark — and set it on Luca's workbench.
Luca stared at it. "You haven't opened it."
"I don't want to know what orders he thought I would obey," Kessel said. "Only what I should do."
Chiara frowned. "And what is that?"
Kessel looked at all of them.
"To form a circle," he said softly.
"A circle of three."
Matteo blinked. "Three?"
Kessel nodded.
He gestured to Luca. "The listener who shapes sound."
To Elena. "The cartographer who hears what cannot be mapped."
To himself. "And the operative who knows how empires hunt."
Elena stared at him, speechless.
Kessel stepped back, letting the idea settle over the room.
"Three crafts," he said quietly. "Three strengths. Three weaknesses. Together… something Vienna cannot predict."
Matteo's voice shook. "But why help Venice?"
"I am not helping Venice," Kessel said. "I am helping Jakob. And Jakob is no longer Vienna's child. He is a child of resonance."
Elena felt a chill pass through her.
"That's… not just philosophy," she whispered.
"No," Kessel said. "It is prophecy."
Matteo scoffed. "You believe in prophecy now?"
Kessel turned to him with a strange, unreadable expression.
"I believe," he said softly, "that the world is changing faster than rulers can write laws about it. And the ones who survive that change are rarely the ones who hold power."
Luca swallowed. "Then who does survive?"
Kessel looked at the three of them — one by one.
"The ones who listen," he said.
Elena drew a shaky breath.
Chiara stepped forward. "If we agree… what then?"
"Then," Kessel said, "we begin preparing for Vienna's arrival."
Matteo's eyes widened. "They're coming?"
"Of course," Kessel murmured. "They felt the counter-song. They felt the pull. They know the boy is alive. And they will not wait long."
Elena glanced toward the broken pane. "How much time?"
Kessel shook his head. "Hours. A day at most. The Chancellor will not suffer uncertainty."
Luca's pulse quickened. "We're not fighters."
"No," Kessel said. "You are not."
He stepped into the center of the workshop, suddenly larger, more dangerous, the air tightening around him.
"But I am."
The room fell silent.
Matteo exhaled, a low hiss.
"Fine," he said. "Then what's the plan?"
Kessel turned to the shattered pane, studying the way its fragments still hummed faintly with Jakob's last touch.
"First," he said, "you will teach me the counter-song."
Elena stiffened. "Absolutely not—"
Kessel raised a hand. "Not to use it. To defend against it."
She hesitated.
Kessel continued, "Vienna will bring their own listeners. You must protect your sequence before they try to break or steal it."
Matteo muttered, "You really expect us to trust you with that?"
"I expect you," Kessel said, "to trust that I know how my own empire thinks."
Luca stepped slowly toward him. "And after we teach you… what then?"
Kessel looked toward the canal, where gondolas drifted like silent shadows.
"Then," he said, "we hide Jakob."
Elena's voice trembled. "Where?"
Kessel's face softened — a rare expression that almost looked like sorrow.
"In the one place Vienna will never think to look," he said. "The one place even the deep layer whispers about in caution."
Matteo swallowed. "Where?"
Kessel turned.
"The island of the broken choir."
Elena gasped. "You're mad. That place—"
"Yes," Kessel said. "Is cursed. Dangerous. Forgotten. And perfect."
Luca frowned. "How do you even know it exists?"
"I've stood on its stones," Kessel said quietly. "And I've heard what sleeps beneath them."
No one spoke.
Not for several long breaths.
Until slowly, reluctantly, Matteo nodded.
Then Chiara.
Then Luca.
Then, trembling but resolute, Elena as well.
Kessel bowed his head.
"Then we begin," he said.
"The Circle of Three is formed."
Outside, the canal lapped quietly against the stone — a sound older than nations, steady as breath.
Listening.Waiting.Holding a secret it had not yet decided how to reveal.