Page 22 of Whispers in the Quarter

“We need to move. Now.”

As we hurriedly dress, Jazz’s earlier languid grace has been replaced with focused efficiency. I catch my reflection in his mirror—hair mussed, lips swollen, wearing his shirt because mine is somewhere in the living room. In this moment, I’m neither Sarah nor Celeste nor Evangeline. I’m simply his Melody, and somehow that feels more real than any other identity I’ve worn.

“Jazz,” I say, catching his arm as he reaches for the door. “I’m sorry. I never meant for you to get caught up in all this.”

He cups my face in his hands, his gaze intense. “Listen to me. I’m exactly where I want to be. We’re in this together now, come hell or high water.” A smile tugs at his lips. “Besides, someone’s got to help the doc keep you alive. Man’s brilliant but subtle ain’t exactly his strong suit.”

I laugh despite the situation, and Jazz pulls me in for one more kiss—slow, sweet, and full of promise.

As we break apart, his phone buzzes again.

“Speaking of our mad scientist,” Jazz says, reading the message. “Seems he’s already working on a solution. Something aboutfascinating applications of untraceable compounds.”

“Of course he is,” I say fondly, thinking of Lucas in his lab, probably mixing something terrifyingly effective while muttering about protecting his Chimera.

As we step out into the pre-dawn darkness, I know that everything has changed. My mission, my identity, my heart—all irrevocably altered by this night. But with Jazz’s steady rhythm on one side and Lucas’s brilliant chaos on the other, for the first time in years, I feel like I might just have a fighting chance.

After all, the most dangerous melodies are the ones you never see coming.

8

EVANGELINE

MILITARY CLASSIFIED DOCUMENT Subject: Alexander Cross Status: REDACTED Special Skills: Psychological manipulation, advanced combat training

Note: Subject discharged after concerning incident with trainee. Shows exceptional ability to identify and exploit potential in unstable recruits.

WARNING: Approach with extreme caution. Known to create loyal assets through questionable methods.

“The bayou remembers,child. Every drop of blood, every whispered prayer, every secret buried in its waters. When you need sanctuary, let it hide you in its shadows. But remember—even shadows have memories.”

—Adeline Deveraux

Dawn creeps through the cypress trees, painting the bayou in shades of gold and shadow. Grandmother’s house stands like a sentinel among the ancient trees, its weathered boards holding secrets as old as New Orleans itself. After Jazz got the warning about the hit, this was the only safe place I could think of.

The scent of herbs drying in the rafters mingles with morning mist—rosemary for protection, cedar for cleansing, and deadlier things that Grandmother only harvests under the dark moon. Jazz sleeps on the old sofa, his usual smooth grace softened by exhaustion. We’d arrived just before sunrise, after hours of careful misdirection to ensure we weren’t followed.

My phone buzzes on Grandmother’s scarred wooden table, a cryptic text lighting up the screen:

Unknown: The past never stays buried, little shadow. Are you ready to dance again?

My blood runs cold. Only one person has ever called me that. Alex.

Standing in this kitchen where I first learned about power and protection, where Grandmother taught me that every plant could heal or harm depending on the hand that wielded it, I’m suddenly thrown back in time. The world dissolves, and I’m back in these same swamps, nine years younger and a lifetime more naive…

“Faster, little shadow!” Alex’s voice cuts through the humid air like a whip. “Your enemies won’t wait for you to catch your breath!”

I push my burning muscles harder, leaping over fallen logs and ducking under low-hanging branches. The murky water of the bayou laps at my ankles, threatening to pull me under with each step. My lungs burn, but not as much as the hole in my heart where Celeste used to be.

Five years ago. Had it only been a year ago? The memory of finding her, of cradling her broken body in these very waters, is still fresh enough to make me bleed.

“Good,” Alex says as I collapse at his feet, gasping for air. “Now get up. We’re not done yet.”

I look up at him, this man who found me when I was nothing but a shell of grief and rage. I’d been trying to assume Celeste’s identity on my own, fumbling through forged documents and practiced signatures. But Alex? He saw something in my desperate attempt to become my sister’s ghost. Something he could shape. Something he could use.

“What’s next?” I ask, hating the eagerness in my voice, but hating my weakness more. Celeste would have been stronger. Celeste wouldn’t have frozen when she saw danger coming.

Alex’s smile is sharp as a knife’s edge. “Now, my dear, you learn to kill.”

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