Chapter 14: The Voices Beneath
Celia woke with a start, her body rigid, an imprint of sleep burned into her skull. The first thing she noticed was the low hum. Not the familiar one of the city streets below, but a deeper, distant resonance that seemed to seep through the walls like a tide rolling in from the farthest reaches of the earth.
The book — The Choir Without Tongues — sat on the edge of her bed, its pages bent and curled as though it had been opened and read over and over again. The reliquary was missing. Gone, along with the fragment of cloth, and she was left with the heavy, unnatural silence that clung to the room like a fog.
She had to get out. The hum was starting to press into her head, each note making her feel heavier, more trapped in the confines of this waking nightmare.
Celia grabbed her coat and phone, glancing at the time. It was well past midnight. Her usual sense of urgency hadn't waned, but something felt different today. The weight in the pit of her stomach was more than dread — it was something ancient, like the knowledge of a storm forming on the horizon.
She left her apartment in a daze, making her way to her car, the streets eerily empty at this hour. The rain had stopped, but the air was thick, as though waiting for something to break.
\---
The precinct was quiet when she arrived. Only a few officers lingered in the main hall, the faint sound of phones ringing and the click of pens the only noise that filled the otherwise silent air. She pushed open the door to her office, flicking on the light.
The stack of files on her desk caught her attention first. There were no new updates on the St. Jude case. Not surprising. But beneath those files was something more curious — a manila folder, handwritten across the front:
“For Detective Hart: Immediate Attention”
Celia didn’t hesitate. She opened the folder, flipping through the papers inside, the moment she saw it:
The file on her brother.
The same one she'd read a dozen times before — his last case. The one that ended in his death.
Except this one had a new note at the bottom.
“The Choir is calling. Find the source. Don’t trust what you hear. It’s not him.”
The handwriting was different from any notes she’d seen in her brother’s files. It was rushed, almost frantic, but the message was clear.
She needed to find the source of the Choir.
\---
The next few hours passed in a blur as Celia dove deeper into the case. The hum in the back of her mind never ceased, pushing her toward answers she wasn’t ready to face. She pored over every piece of evidence, connecting dots that never seemed to fit — except now, they did.
Her brother had known about the Choir. He had been tracking it before his death.
And now, she was following in his footsteps.
Her fingers brushed the edges of the book again. Her mind circled back to the same question: why had it been left in her hands? Why had she, of all people, been chosen to continue his work?
\---
By morning, Celia had a plan. She needed to go back to Saint Rhosyn. The vault. The Choir. There was something there she had missed the first time.
And this time, she wouldn’t leave until she had answers.
The city hadn’t changed much since her last visit. The streets still held that disquieting calm, the type of quiet that made everything feel like it was holding its breath. She parked near the edge of the district, the towering structure of Saint Rhosyn looming in the distance.
Her stomach twisted as she approached. She’d never been one to believe in ghosts, but there was something about the place — something more than just the fire or the fire’s aftermath. It was as if the building itself was alive, and it had been waiting for her to return.
The custodian was gone when she arrived. This time, the front doors opened easily for her. She didn’t need permission. She knew exactly where she was going.
Down the winding staircase to the vault.
The air changed again as she descended. The deeper she went, the heavier it felt, like she was being pulled down into the earth itself. It wasn’t just the weight of history or secrets; it was something far older.
And it was watching.
The vault door opened with a creak. The floor beneath her feet felt softer this time. More unstable. She stepped inside, her breath catching at the sight before her.
The bookshelves were still there, the same rows of fragile tomes and records, but the place felt different. The air felt more… alive.
A glint in the corner of her eye caught her attention. It was faint, but unmistakable — the glimmer of silver wire, tangled among a pile of discarded papers.
Celia knelt down, her fingers trembling as she uncovered a small wooden box, sealed with the same intricate wirework as the reliquary.
She carefully opened it, her breath catching in her throat.
Inside was a small, shattered mirror. The glass was cracked and broken, its edges jagged like the shards of a broken mind. A note was wedged between the pieces, smeared with ink:
“Look closer. Find the truth behind the reflection.”
Her heart raced. This wasn’t just another clue. It was a warning.
The hum was louder now, pressing against her skull, and she knew, deep down, that something had changed. The Choir wasn’t just a myth. It wasn’t just some ancient tune to be sung in the dark.
It was a force — something older than the city itself. And now, Celia Hart had become part of its song.
She stood, the mirror in hand, and for the first time, she understood the true nature of the Choir.
It wasn’t calling to her.
It was calling through her.
\---
By the time Celia left Saint Rhosyn, the city had shifted. The fog had returned, thick and impenetrable, as if the world itself had turned its gaze inward. The streets were empty again, save for the shadows that seemed to stretch and shift on their
own.
She knew now that she wasn’t alone.
And the Choir wasn’t finished with her.
Not yet.