One week after the historic press conference in Washington, an icy winter silence settled over the historic streets of Boston. The Charles River was crusted with thin sheets of crystalline ice, reflecting the glittering downtown skyline under a clear, moonlit sky. At eleven o'clock that evening, Damian Cross escorted Maya through the private artist entrance of Boston Symphony Hall. The legendary hall was completely empty, shrouded in reverent, cathedral-like quiet.…
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