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Installation crawled, progress bar a heartbeat. Outside, rain tapped Morse down the apartment window. Her speakers woke with a breath she hadn’t expected: air moving through nozzles, micro-currents aligning. She loaded the first track, a dusty sample she had been polishing for weeks, and listened. The piano no longer hovered in the room; it lived there. Cymbals unfolded like silver petals. The bass found its spine and told the floor to vibrate in agreement. She hesitated, thumb resting over the trackpad