The answer came too quickly. Too rehearsed.

Emily felt tears threaten the corners of her eyes but forced herself to stay calm.

“How old are you?”

The girl shrugged.

“I think… twelve. Maybe around that.”

Daniel’s stomach twisted painfully. If their daughter had survived, she would be twelve now too.

Emily hesitated before asking the next question.

“Are you hungry?”

Before the girl could answer, her stomach growled loudly in the quiet air.

Even then, she tried to keep her tough expression.

Daniel spoke slowly, choosing his words with care.

“We’d just like to get you something warm to eat,” he said. “And maybe take you somewhere safe for a little while. If you want to leave afterward, that’s completely your choice.”

A light rain began to fall, tapping softly against the gravestones.

The girl stared down at the sack of bottles as though it was the only thing in the world she could rely on.

After a long moment, she nodded.

Inside the car, she sat rigidly against the passenger door, her eyes constantly scanning the streets and intersections as if she had learned to expect danger everywhere.

Emily tried to speak with her gently, but the girl answered only in short sentences.

As Daniel drove, Emily noticed something that made her breath catch.

On the girl’s left wrist was a small birthmark—tiny and star-shaped.

Daniel nearly slammed on the brakes when Emily whispered it to him.

When they arrived at their penthouse overlooking the marina in Silver Bay Heights, the girl stopped dead in the doorway.

The high glass walls, polished marble floors, and sparkling chandelier seemed to overwhelm her.

She looked down at her worn shoes, unsure whether she was even allowed to step inside.

Emily smiled softly.

“You’re safe here.”

She prepared a warm bath and gave the girl clean clothes. At first, the girl stood stiffly beside the bathtub, as if she didn’t trust the water.

But once she stepped in, something inside her seemed to break.

She began to cry quietly—deep, shaking sobs that sounded like years of fear and exhaustion finally spilling out.

Later, when Emily served dinner, the girl ate slowly and cautiously, shielding her plate with her arms the way someone might if they had spent years worrying their food could disappear at any moment.

The next morning, while wandering through the living room, the girl stopped in front of a photograph on a shelf.