Rest

Open mouths, empty heads, big bytes.I came back from the fire with half a face, a new eye that sends its own invoices, and a hand that arrives a quarter-second after I do. The Chorus came back with a hobby. Every night, it writes one bar of music.The Nocturne is the most beautiful thing this city has ever heard, and it isn't finished. Prosper Halloran, a man who has never told a lie in his life, would like to sell its ending before it happens. His models forecast everything. They know what the city will dream next spring. They know what I'll do tomorrow.They have help. Someone at my own table is reporting every word I say, and I know who. The trick is to keep him talking, and to make sure everything he passes on is true.It's a con made entirely of honesty, run against a man who can't be lied to, for a piece of music that ends in a way nobody can sell.I just have to live long enough to hear the last bar.