The Maestro's Gambit

Sixty minutes before the velvet curtain was set to rise, Adam’s ebony baton snapped between his fingers. Sharp splinters bit into his palm, but he didn't cast them aside. Standing in the wings, he watched the musicians through a sliver in the drapes; the opera house was teeming with the city's elite, and the tension in the corridors hissed like trapped steam. In the far-right corner of the stage sat Arthur, the concertmaster who had graced this orchestra for decades longer than Adam had been alive. Arthur tuned his strings with a calculated coldness, pointedly ignoring the new score Adam had p...