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“That,” Matt said, his voice hoarse and happy, “was the best night of my entire life.”

After the final chord rang out and the band took their last bow, Matt and Sam stumbled out onto High Street, ears ringing, throats raw, shirt soaked through.

Silence. Then, a standing ovation that lasted a full minute.

The opening riff of “The Lining Is Silver” exploded. It wasn’t a sound; it was a pressure wave. Matt felt it in his ribs. The entire floor of the Newport became a single, jumping organism. His feet left the ground and didn’t touch it again for the next three minutes.

The highlight came halfway through the set. The band shifted. Thiessen walked to the piano. The chatter died down. A slow, familiar arpeggio began.

Sam looked at him, dazed. “Well?”