Corin dreamed of her again.
Lyra, falling into a black pit. Screaming. A lullaby played backwards in the background, haunting and hollow.
He awoke with a gasp.
"What kind of dream was that?"
No water. He stumbled to the fridge, gulped from a bottle.
The melody began again.
Corin blinked. "Where's that music coming from—?"
He awoke again.
"Still dreaming?"
He pinched himself.
"Ow—nope, that one's real."
The morning sun crept in.
"I don't want to go to college," he muttered. "I'll just… skip."
Helena knocked. "Corin! You'll be late!"
"I feel sick," he called. "Taking a leave."
She peeked in, concerned. "Do you have a fever?"
"I just… don't feel right."
"Your father said you're twenty. Not a kid. But look at you—my poor child."
Corin smiled weakly. "Poor, but not financially. We're filthy rich, remember?"
He turned serious. "But… Mom. I think I want to keep doing this job."
"What? Why?"
"I don't know how to explain. There's something… buried there. A mystery. A story. And that melody—I hear it in my dreams. It's calling me."
She frowned. "Fever's got to your head. You're resting. No arguments."
His phone rang.
Finn Bramble.
"Corin! We're in trouble. What did you do to Mr. Morven?"
"What—was it the gum in his hat? The cockroaches? The bitter gourd sandwich?"
Finn groaned. "What is wrong with you?"
"Next time I'll try exploding chalk."
"You never learn. Get here, now."
---
At college...
"Corin Vale!" barked Mr. Morven.
"No… no… no…" Corin whispered.
"Corin," the man snapped. "You've been selected to represent us in the International Music Competition of Harper. For your composition, Last Melody."
The room erupted in applause.
"Thanks," Corin said. "I never thought I'd get this chance."
Mr. Morven sneered. "I don't like you. I don't like music. Don't embarrass us."
Later, Corin sat alone.
"This really happened? I'm not dreaming?"
He touched his chest. No music. No Lyra. Not tonight.
But something lingered.
A secret.
A song.
A shadow waiting at the edge of dreams.