Chapter 6 - The Music BoxThe attack lasted less than ninety seconds.
That was how Julian’s men measured it afterward, with security footage and timestamps and bullet marks in stone.
But to Maisie, time broke apart.
There was smoke in her throat. Mrs. Greer’s arms around her shoulders. Finn coughing somewhere to her left. Cyrus barking with a sound so violent it seemed to tear the room open. Julian’s voice cutting through the chaos, calm and exact.
“East wall. Two shooters. Mace, roofline. Greer, safe hall.”
Maisie stumbled as Mrs. Greer pulled her through a hidden door behind the library shelves.
“Finn!” Maisie screamed.
“I’m here!” he shouted back.
His hand found hers in the dark passage.
Cyrus forced himself between them and the smoke, snarling backward, refusing to move until Julian entered last.
The hidden door sealed behind them.
Darkness did not frighten Maisie.
Darkness was where she understood things best.
But the music box did.
Its thin melody drifted through the walls even after they were underground, even after the gunfire stopped, even after the house became a sealed fortress above them.
Maisie clamped both hands over her ears.
Finn pulled her close. “What is it?”
“My mom,” she whispered.
Julian turned. “What?”
“That song. My mom used to hum it.”
Mrs. Greer’s expression sharpened. “Many mothers hum lullabies.”
“No,” Maisie said. “Not like that.”
She sang four trembling notes.
Julian went still.
Mace, who had joined them from a separate stairwell with blood on his sleeve, looked at his boss.
“What?” Finn demanded. “Why are you looking like that?”
Julian spoke slowly. “Elena used to sing that same tune.”
Maisie shook her head. “No.”
Mrs. Greer’s hand moved to her mouth.
Finn stepped in front of Maisie. “What are you saying?”
Julian did not answer quickly enough.
Finn shoved him.
Every gun in the corridor lifted.
Julian raised a hand, stopping them.
Finn’s voice shook. “Say it.”
Julian looked at Maisie.
“What was your mother’s name?”
Maisie’s face crumpled slightly. “Nora Doyle.”
“Before Doyle?”
“I don’t know.”
Finn answered for her, reluctantly. “She never talked about before. Said it was safer that way.”
Julian’s breathing changed.
He looked at Mrs. Greer.
She whispered, “Julian…”
He shook his head once, refusing the thought.
But the thought had already entered the room.
A blind girl who could calm Elena’s dog.
A lullaby only Elena sang.
A mother who hid her past.
A mafia network suddenly obsessed with taking the girl alive.
Julian felt the walls of his life shift.
Maisie heard it in the silence.
“Why do they want me?” she asked.
No one answered.
This time, even Finn had no anger left.
Only fear.
Mace checked his phone. “The shooters are dead. One took poison before we could get him. The other had no ID.”
Julian’s voice returned to steel. “And the music box?”
“Left at the gate.”
“Bring it.”
Mace hesitated. “Boss, it could be—”
“Bring it.”
A few minutes later, the music box sat on a metal table inside the safe room.
It was old. Porcelain. A small white dog sat beside a painted apple tree on the lid.
Black Orchard’s symbol.
Julian opened it himself.
The melody began again.
Maisie turned pale.
Inside the box was a folded photograph.
Julian picked it up.
His face emptied.
“What is it?” Maisie whispered.
Julian did not respond.
Mrs. Greer took the photo from him.
She made a small broken sound.
Finn snatched it and stared.
He saw a young woman with dark hair standing beside a much younger Julian. She held a baby wrapped in a yellow blanket. Around her neck was a silver pendant shaped like a small bird.
On the back, written in faded ink, were five words:
She hears what others miss.
Finn looked at Maisie.
Maisie could not see the photo, but she felt the truth moving toward her like cold water.
“Is that my mother?” she asked.
Julian sat down slowly.
His voice was rough when it came.
“That’s my sister.”
Finn shook his head. “No. No, you’re lying.”
Julian looked at Maisie as if she had become a ghost.
“Elena Hart vanished with her infant daughter eleven years ago.”
Maisie’s breath caught.
“She was being hunted by Black Orchard,” Julian continued. “I thought they killed both of them.”
Finn backed away, still holding the photo. “My mother was Nora Doyle.”
“Maybe she became Nora Doyle to survive.”
“No.”
Maisie’s hand shook as she reached for the table.
Cyrus pressed against her.
She buried her fingers in his fur.
“My mom died when I was six,” she whispered. “Fever. Hospital said there was nothing they could do.”
Julian’s head lifted.
“What hospital?”
Finn answered. “St. Mercy.”
Mace cursed under his breath.
Julian turned sharply. “What?”
Mace’s face had gone grim. “St. Mercy is tied to Black Orchard. Old shell donations. Medical records. Private wings.”
Finn looked sick.
Maisie’s voice became very small. “Did they kill my mom?”
Nobody spoke.
That was answer enough.
Cyrus whined and nudged her hand.
Maisie did not cry.
Not yet.
She stood straighter.
“Then I want to go to Black Orchard.”
Finn spun toward her. “Are you insane?”
“No.” Her voice shook, but did not break. “I want to know who I am.”
Julian looked at the photograph again.
For eleven years, he had believed his family ended with a grave he never found.
Now his niece stood in front of him, blind and trembling, with his sister’s courage in her bones.
He rose.
“You’re not going to Black Orchard.”
Maisie opened her mouth.
May you like
Julian continued.
“We are.”
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