Noton didn't answer immediately. He looked up at the sky, where the moon was a thin silver blade. "Maybe we’ve been asking the wrong people. Maybe the answer isn't in a person or a place."
As the first light of dawn began to grey the horizon, they turned away from the tower. They didn't have the map yet, but they had the rhythm. And in the heart of Baku, that was always enough to start a new song. If you'd like, I can:
They reached the edge of the Maiden Tower, where the modern skyline of the Flame Towers loomed in the distance. The contrast was a mirror of their music: one foot in the ancient melodies of their ancestors, the other in the driving, restless beats of the present.
"They say every street here has a secret," Noton said, his voice barely rising above the wind. "But none of them are talking tonight."