Chapter4:The stone that answers
755 Words
Edward did not step inside her apartment.
That restraint mattered more to Amara than politeness would have. He remained just beyond the threshold, as if crossing it without permission might trigger something neither of them was ready for.
“You don’t have to let me in,” he said, eyes flicking briefly to the stairwell behind her. “But you shouldn’t be alone right now.”
Amara hesitated, then opened the door wider. “You noticed the stone.”
“I monitor it,” Edward replied. “Along with three others in the city that behave badly when people pretend they’re inert.”
That was not the answer she had expected. It unsettled her more than any lie would have.
She stepped aside. Edward entered, scanning the room instinctively—windows, corners, reflective surfaces—before settling his gaze on the parchment clenched in her hand.
“You found it this morning,” he said.
“You don’t get to state things about my life like facts,” Amara replied sharply.
Edward met her stare. “Fair. Then I’ll ask instead. Did it arrive without explanation?”
“Yes.”
“And without a knock?”
Her silence was answer enough.
Edward exhaled slowly. “Then this isn’t random. Someone crossed a line.”
He moved to the piano, careful not to touch the keys. “You played last night.”
Amara stiffened. “You were listening.”
“The whole street was listening,” he said. “That melody wasn’t just sound. It travelled. The stone reacted because it recognised the structure.”
“Recognised?” she echoed.
Edward nodded once. “Bathstone remembers resonance. Certain frequencies wake it. Most people never get close.”
“And I did because… what?” she demanded. “I’m special?”
“No,” Edward said quietly. “Because you’re familiar.”
The word landed like a blow.
Before she could respond, a sharp c***k split the air.
Glass shattered.
They both ducked instinctively as the window behind the piano fractured inward, a small stone skidding across the floor and coming to rest beside the bench.
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then Edward swore.
“That wasn’t a warning,” he said. “That was a test.”
Amara’s hands were shaking now. “Who would do that?”
Edward crossed to the window and peered out cautiously. “Someone who wants to see how fast you react. And who you trust.”
He turned back to her. “Do you still have the folder?”
Her breath caught. “What folder?”
“The one you didn’t unpack,” he said. “Leather. Old string. You keep looking at the desk like it might explode.”
Amara stared at him.
“How do you know that?”
“Because you’re not the first composer this city has chewed up,” Edward replied. “And you won’t be the last if you don’t stop pretending this is coincidence.”
Another sound reached them—footsteps below, too measured to be casual. Amara moved closer to Edward without realising it.
From the window, she saw the man from earlier standing beside the Bathstone slab. He had removed his gloves now, one hand resting flat against the stone’s surface.
The slab pulsed.
Not visibly—but the air around it thickened, the way it did before a storm broke.
Amara’s ears rang.
Her chest tightened.
The melody surged back into her mind, louder, urgent, unfinished.
“Don’t,” Edward warned softly, following her gaze. “Whatever you’re feeling—don’t respond.”
“I’m not doing anything,” she whispered.
“You don’t have to,” he said. “That’s the problem.”
The man in the courtyard tilted his head, as if listening to something only he could hear. Then he smiled faintly and tapped the stone twice with his knuckles.
The vibration rippled outward.
The lights in Amara’s apartment flickered.
Edward grabbed her wrist. “We’re leaving. Now.”
“Where?” she demanded.
“Somewhere the stone can’t hear you think.”
They were halfway down the stairs when a voice echoed up the stairwell—calm, amused, and unmistakably directed at her.
“Running already?” the man called. “You didn’t run last time, Amara.”
Her blood turned cold.
Edward froze.
“That,” he said quietly, “is very bad.”
Amara’s past was no longer behind her.
It had found her.
And this time, it was not content to watch.
- Writer
