Page 12 of Fallen Princess: Shadow Stalker

“But aren’t you even curious? Your song is gracing all the international charts.” I know my sister means well, but she isn’t helping.

That bloody song is all I fucking hear everywhere I go. Even the damn post office had it playing somewhere in the background, and occasionally, someone would point at me, recognizing me as that teenage kid who once was.

But it’s that haunting melody and those lyrics that are nothing but fragments from the past. The notes, tinged with sweetness and sorrow, evoke an instinctive mix of emotions, painting unwanted scenes in my head. The ones I tucked away a long time ago, hesitant to revisit and best left undisturbed.

“It’s not our song.” I’m one second away from gritting my teeth. I don’t need reminding. It’s a song banned from playing in this restaurant.

“It’s a ghost from days gone by,” she says with a hopeful smile, although I don’t know what she hopes to achieve by pushing this issue.

I watch her stand up from the chair. Her belly swelled with the final month of her pregnancy; she’s really about to burst.

“Yet amidst the ache you obviously still hold, there’s a strange allure in the familiarity of that song. A poignant reminder that even the sourest notes can carry a haunting beauty, capturing the essence of a past that refuses to be silenced.”

I stare at her and shake my head with amusement.

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” I huff a laugh. “And here we thought I had the lyrical talent in the family.”

“My degree in literature and philosophy was only ever going to get me so far,” her features soften as the corners of her mouth curl upward. “My talent lies in the catering business. Music was yours from as far as I can remember.”

“Talent or curse,” I mutter, not wanting to open the topic of my demise. I fold the unopened envelope and turn to leave. “I’ve got to open shop.”

“Music is your blood. That song was the one all five of you cowrote, not one that the label forced you to record. I remember how you all fought to get it through.”

I stop at the door, my back to my sister, hesitating. Because it brings back a memory trail, I don’t feel like going down right now.

“This song is a sign, Jag,” she urges. “Your calling to get the band back together.”

“I have a job, Abby, one I’ve been doing successfully for the past three years,” I say, turning around to face her.

She’s never been so persistent about me returning to music, so why now?

“You’ve been drowning ever since you got back from the Middle East,” Abby raises her hand to stop me from interrupting her. “I know you’re invested in this business as much as Derek and I are but the catering business was mine and his calling.

“I don’t often see him, but Asher is in the same boat as you. As much as he loves motorbikes, I hardly reckon an instructor was the major career choice he saw for himself when he entered that competition that changed all your lives.”

That bloody competition.

My brow furrows as she brings up my history. The one that ruined all of us, mentally and emotionally.

“We were kids back then.”

“And you’re adults now, and you’re ex-millitree1.A soldier who’s better equipped to deal with whatever toxic shite the industry will throw your way. Get Asher on your side and get the other two to consider a comeback.”

I sigh, pursing my lips together to form a firm line.

“She was what completed the group. Without her—”

“Then find her.”

My eyes pop at her suggestion. My sister must be having some pregnancy hormonal insanity going onright now.

“You don’t know what you're asking.”

“It was almost a decade ago, Jag. The four of you hold a grudge for something you don’t even know why.”

I shake my head in disagreement.

“She abandoned the band.”

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