Elias tried everything. The date of Shostakovich's death. The opus number. The name of the conductor. Nothing worked. Frustrated, he began to delete the file, but a strange text document appeared in the folder that hadn't been there before. It was titled READ_ME_OR_LISTEN.txt .

Elias tried to turn down the volume, but the slider wouldn't move. The sound was coming from everywhere now—not just the headphones, but from the walls, the floorboards, the air itself. Suddenly, the music stopped. Total silence.

At first, there was only the hiss of old magnetic tape. Then, a voice—sharp, nervous, speaking in rapid Russian. It was Shostakovich himself, arguing with a trumpeter. The room felt cold as Elias listened to the ghost of a man terrified for his life.

He tried the password SILENCE . The archive unzipped instantly.

Elias looked at the empty progress bar for Part 3. The estimated download time was 99 years . Behind him, in the corner of his dark room, he heard the faint, metallic click of a baton hitting a music stand. The rehearsal wasn't over.