Page 192 of Bound By Song

They didn’t just save me.

Wesaved each other.

EVIANA

Iknow something’s wrong the moment we pull into the drive.

The gate hangs open, swinging in the breeze like a broken promise.

The porch light, always left on like a beacon, is dark.

And the air?—

The air feels hollow. As if the house itself is holding its breath.

Blaise is out of the car first. I watch the way his shoulders lock, his fists curling at his sides. Xar follows, a silent shadow behind him, his eyes sweeping the dark. His hand brushes the small of Blaise’s back, a barely-there touch – grounding.

Dane doesn’t move.

Not at first.

His hand clamps around my wrist, firm but not painful, and he looks at me – really looks.

“Stay,” he murmurs, his voice low, gravel-worn. “Please.”

But the moment the front door creaks open, and I hear Blaise’s voice – sharp and raw and agonised – “Fuck” – I know I won’t listen.

My legs move before I think. I push past Dane, ignoring his shout, heart hammering.

The air inside the house is thick with…wrongness. The kind of wrong that claws at your throat and settles behind your ribs. The scent of strangers clings to the walls – sour, sharp, alien. A cold draft snakes down the hallway, stirring the chaos that litters the floor.

Shoes scattered like a struggle.

Chairs overturned.

A photo frame shattered – our only childhood picture of me and my sisters splintered into glass and memory.

Downstairs in the studio my instruments are splintered, keys ripped from the piano, guitar strings snapped like veins. Pages of lyrics – mine, raw, real – lie soaked in something sticky and dark. Ink bleeds down the walls like someone tried to silence me with a scream.

I don’t stop moving until I reach the room at the end of the corridor.

And then?—

I stop breathing.

The world tilts.

My nest.

Gone.

Blankets shredded, stuffing strewn like snow. My pillows gutted. The sweater Blaise gave me – ripped in two. The hoodie Xar draped over me the other night – slashed. The soft scarf Dane used to scent me – torn to ribbons.

The sanctuary they built for me with their own hands, with their scents, their care – violated.

They didn’t take anything.

They just destroyed it. Everything.

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