The morning light bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Tribeca penthouse, catching the dust motes that swirled above a grand piano. To anyone else, the light was beautiful. To Julian Vane, it was a metronome. Another sunrise. Another deadline.
Julian had been blocked for four weeks.
He closed his eyes. In his dream, he was underwater. But he wasn’t drowning. He was listening. premiere composer