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I shook off the lingering memory of my ex and focused on Pan instead. It would heal, I just had to give it time.

Pan was dressed in sparkly black, high-waisted pants and a tight white tank top. His tattoos peppered his skin and there was a new one I spotted. On his right shoulder, a pair of wings and a halo. I froze. Pan called me angel. Was that for me? It seemed too pointed to be a coincidence.

“Why are you here?” Puck asked, rifling through the music books Pan brought.

“Sorry?” Had I misheard him?

Puck flicked his dirty blond hair off his forehead and rolled his eyes. “Why would you come back here? You know this is The Barracks, right?”

My heart clenched in my chest. In his youth, I could see the shadow of Lloyd. Another young Designated who dreamed about leaving.

“Even with your new piano? Come on, I want to see if you’ve improved,” I joked.

“Let’s see what you can do.” Pan waved Puck over. “What did you choose?”

Puck waved a sheet, and Pan let out a plaintive noise.

“Tears of the Moon. How’d you know that’s my favorite?” Pan sat on the bench and Puck settled in next to him.

I’d never seen Pan play, and I was beyond curious. The curl in his spine straightened as his fingers kissed the keys. Reverence echoed in the way he lingered. A prayer-like silence settled over us. Puck looked at Pan with a mixture of awe and suspicion.

“I’ve seen videos of you playing,” Puck admitted, and his bony shoulders hugged his ears.

“Ah, well, I might disappoint you these days. This one is not for beginners. It’s a hard piece, one that took me a long time to master.”

“Won’t you play it?” I interrupted as Pan put it aside and something passed over his face.

It was a small death, a fleeting cut to the bone. He painted a sharp-toothed smile over the expression and his hands curled.

“I confess, I stalked you online, and would love a song if you feel up for it.” Clay joined me.

“I don’t play anymore.” Pan’s eyebrows clashed together like a shield, and I knew better than to press.

Pan extricated another sheet with a pleased gasp. “Now, this is good. Show me what you’ve got, Puck.”

I knew little about piano, but Puck seemed confident and the music sounded good to me.

Pan was more critical. He adjusted Puck’s hands. “You want to lead with your fingers, not your arm, and keep a curve.”

“I know that.” Puck pushed out his lip and Clay covered his mouth.

“He doesn’t like to be told what to do.”

“If he wants to learn, he will. You need to be practicing every day. Always choose a song you enjoy, though.”

Puck rolled his eyes and started playing again. “Easy for you to say. I bet you had a huge ass piano in your house growing up and as many lessons as you wanted.”

Pan looked down at the keys and then at his hands. His chin dropped to his chest.

“You’re not wrong. I was a spoiled brat growing up, and the only thing I ever wanted to do was play piano. My dad was a musician, and he only paid attention to me when I played well. It was an excellent motivator.”

My stomach twisted at the admission, but Puck let out a sharp laugh. “At least you’ve got a dad.”

“Alright, you’re going to one-up me every time, aren’t you?” Pan smiled and slipped off the bench.

He clapped Clay on the shoulder and gestured at the boy. “Whatever you need to help him improve, let me know. I’ll give you my number.”

Clay nodded. “Thank you for this. It will make a real difference. I’m not the best player. I mainly do it to give kids a creative outlet and I enjoy teaching.”