Hanna kneels, feet tucked behind her, at the front of the stage, microphone drawn to her face, her voice commanding the sea of people out in the auditorium beyond. Her words are softly sung and alluring with Halldór’s gentle guitar strumming, and Jon’s keyboard ballad.
Away in the audience, Bjäkk cranes his neck forward as a couple of young kids push past him to get to the bar. He moves forward, listening, remembering for a moment that year when he shared the stage with Hanna.

Harry rubs his chin, slowly, thoughtfully. He feels the stubble growing beneath his fingers, as he stares at the computer model. Alongside him on the table is a glass of beer, not much drunk from; frosted with condensation. Without taking his eyes off the screen, his hand reaches out for the glass and lifts it to his lips. He shakes his head.

Alice lies on her bed, a sheet pulled loosely over her, one hand under her face, and her hair strewn across the pillow. Across the room, Helen lies on the front, propped up on her elbows writing into her notebook. She sketches out characters and settings, allowing her imagination to run.

In the lounge, Ben fills another page with graphs and equations. Tapping the point of his pencil on the page he scratches he dismisses his last reasoning and scratches it through with a bold diagonal line. Folding back another page, he moves fast to redraw it.

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