Chapter 5 Music Of My Soul

Seraphina

I woke restless, like something was moving under my skin.

I tried to work it out of myself—sneaking out to the garden I kept hidden in the forest, washing laundry a full day early. I even stripped my bed, scrubbed the blankets, and hung everything to dry.

Still, the feeling wouldn’t leave.

I checked several tunnel entrances, making sure nothing had been disturbed, that no one had found me. Nothing. CC followed at my heels, voicing her displeasure every step of the way.

“Sorry, Cosmic,” I muttered after tripping over her for the third time. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”

She huffed. I sighed.

When we returned home, I wished the familiar comfort of the station would settle me. It didn’t.

I set my bag down and peeled off my disguise. CC immediately stalked toward the treasure car, slipping through the cracked door.

“What are you doing in there?” I called, following her. “Don’t knock anything over just because you’re mad, or no more tuna.”

She ignored me—as usual.

I stopped short when I saw where she’d planted herself.

My cello.

I’d found it my first year alone. Getting it down here had nearly killed me—but the moment I’d touched the strings, I’d known it belonged to me.

I’d been forced to learn piano from the time I could walk. Music was the only constant in my fractured childhood. But the cello… the cello had settled into me. I’d taught myself to play it the same way I’d taught myself everything else.

Carefully. Quietly. Alone.

Books filled the treasure room—music, learning, fantasy—piled high and spilling into my sleeping space. They were proof that I’d survived.

CC meowed loudly.

“You’re right,” I said softly. “It always helps.”

I grabbed the bow and hauled the cello into the main area, pulling a chair free with my foot. CC stayed in the doorway, watching me like a sentry.

I inhaled and closed my eyes.

I didn’t follow written music anymore. I let instinct guide me, drawing sound from the air itself. The cello sang back, low and aching, and my body swayed with it.

The feeling under my skin eased.

I played until my arms burned and my breath came hard. The final note lingered, echoing through the station like a farewell.

“Amazing.”

The word shattered the silence.

My eyes flew open. I moved instantly, retreating behind my worktable with the cello still in my grip.

Fuck.

I’d been so lost in the music I hadn’t heard anyone approach. My heart hammered as I scanned the shadows, searching for the body that belonged to the voice.

This was my sanctuary.

Built by my hands.

“Go away,” I shouted. “I have a gun, and I will shoot you.”

Which was true.

I eased the cello and bow to the floor and peeked over the table, spotting the gun. I grabbed it, checked the safety, then aimed into the dark.

“Don’t shoot,” the voice called. “We mean you no harm.”

Male. Deep. Confident.

We.

Shuffling echoed from the tunnel to the left—the one leading to the river. My stomach dropped.

“You’re lying,” I yelled. “Last chance. Leave or I shoot.”

I calculated exits as I spoke. Sewer line. Secondary tunnel. Emergency crawlspace.

I’d have to abandon everything.

The cello.

My supplies.

The money I’d scraped together.

I checked the clip. Thirty rounds.

My gaze snapped back to the tunnel as three shapes emerged.

Tall. Broad. Wrong.

Not men.

Shifters.

And I was screwed.