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SERA
I didn't cross an ocean to fall in love. I came to Vienna to sing.
The Kastellan Fellowship was supposed to be my beginning. The stage I'd been working toward since I was twelve years old in an Atlanta church choir, singing until the walls shook. Ethiopian chant in my bones. Gospel in my blood. Classical training that took years to earn. I brought all of it to the most prestigious conservatory in Europe.
Then they paired me with him.
Léon Vossler. Reclusive. Brilliant. Cold enough to make me want to scream and talented enough to make me want to stay in the room while I did it. He heard me sing once - something from home, something private - and after that, he was everywhere. Watching. Listening. Writing music I could hear myself inside of.
I was falling for him. Hard. Fast. Stupid.
Then I found a name in the archive. A woman like me. Black. Brilliant. Erased.
And his name was on her stolen work.
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