Serafina's pov:

The next morning, I woke to a sharp pain in my ribs as I rolled onto my side. My body protested every movement, but staying still wasn't an option. Gary and Linda didn't tolerate laziness. They didn't tolerate much of anything from me.

The cold morning light seeped through the cracked blinds, casting jagged patterns across the floor. For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would feel like to wake up in a warm bed, to stretch without flinching, to breathe without fear.

The fantasy broke as soon as Linda's grating voice echoed through the house.

"Sophie! Get down here now!"

I forced myself up, pulling my oversized hoodie tighter around me. It smelled like mildew and old detergent, but it was the only thing that made me feel remotely safe. My legs trembled as I stood, but I pushed the pain aside and made my way downstairs.

Linda was in the kitchen, her wiry frame bent over the sink. Her movements were sharp and agitated, her bony shoulders jutting out from her faded robe. She turned to me with a scowl, pointing to the cluttered counter.

"Dishes. Now."

"Yes," I mumbled, stepping past her to start the task.

"You better not break anything," she snapped. "Those plates cost good money."

I didn't bother pointing out that most of the plates were chipped, mismatched, and clearly bought at a thrift store. Linda always acted like everything in the house was worth more than my life.

As I scrubbed the crusted-over dishes, Gary shuffled into the kitchen, his heavy footsteps making the floor creak. He reeked of beer and stale sweat, his eyes bloodshot and bleary.

"Morning, princess," he slurred, his voice dripping with mockery.

I kept my head down, my hands trembling as I gripped the sponge. Don't respond. Don't react. That was the rule.

"She's not a princess, Gary," Linda said with a bitter laugh. "She's a freeloader. We're stuck feeding her and putting a roof over her head, and for what?"

"Maybe we should send her packing," Gary muttered, taking a swig from the bottle in his hand. "Bet she wouldn't last a day on the streets."

Linda smirked. "She's lucky we haven't already."

Their words were knives, cutting deeper than any bruise. But I didn't flinch. I didn't cry. I couldn't give them the satisfaction.

Later that afternoon, I found myself outside, pulling weeds in the overgrown backyard. It was Gary's punishment for me after he decided I hadn't scrubbed the kitchen floor "to his standards." My hands were raw, dirt caked under my nails, but at least out here, I could breathe.

The backyard was surrounded by a sagging wooden fence, the planks warped and splintered. It wasn't much, but it was enough to block out the world. Enough to let me feel alone, if only for a little while.

As I worked, I caught a glimpse of the sky through the cracks in the fence. It was pale blue, streaked with wispy clouds. I stared at it for a long moment, letting myself imagine that somewhere out there, someone was looking at the same sky.

The thought felt foolish, but it brought a flicker of warmth to my chest.

By the time the sun began to set, my body was screaming for rest. But there was no rest in this house. Dinner was another gauntlet of insults and sharp comments. I barely touched my food, keeping my head down and my answers short.

When I finally escaped to my room, I collapsed onto the mattress, my limbs heavy with exhaustion. The lighthouse photo caught my eye, and I stared at it as the room grew darker.

"I don't know who you are," I whispered into the silence. "But I hope you find me soon."

Omniscient Pov:

Meanwhile, in Detroit...

Dante Romano leaned against the sleek black car parked outside a crumbling house on the outskirts of town. His sharp gray eyes scanned the street, taking in every detail—the cracked pavement, the overgrown lawns, the flickering streetlights.

"She's in there," Enzo said quietly, nodding toward the house.

Dante's jaw tightened. "You're sure?"

Enzo handed him a grainy photo, snapped by one of their informants earlier that day. It showed a girl with dark curls and haunting green eyes, her face partially obscured as she carried a trash bag to the curb.

"She matches the description," Enzo said. "The bruises... everything lines up."

Dante's hand curled into a fist around the photo. Ten years. Ten years of searching, of chasing false leads, of wondering if she was even alive. And now, finally, they were close.

"What's the plan?" Enzo asked.

"We confirm it's her," Dante said, his voice hard. "Then we get her out of there."

"And the foster parents?"

Dante's eyes darkened. "They'll wish they were never born."

Serafina's Pov:

Back in the house, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. I didn't hear the car pulling up outside. I didn't know that my whispered plea had reached the ears of men who would burn the world to find me.

But something inside me stirred—a strange, unfamiliar feeling.

Hope.

a/n

HELLERRR how are you guysss, how are you loving the story so farrr????