---
**The soft leather of Emma Frost's Bentley Continental GT seats exuded a subtle and expensive aroma**, a sophisticated fragrance that seemed to repel the scent of garbage and dampness that still clung to the boy, clinging to his worn clothes.
He was huddled in the passenger seat, watching the flickering lights of the Boston night pass by as yellowish and reddish blurs through the window.
**The silence inside the car was almost palpable**, thick with the strangeness and uncertainty of the moment.
Emma drove with impeccable composure, her hands elegantly positioned on the steering wheel. Her gaze fixed on the road ahead was impassive, but the boy felt the weight of her occasional observations, **a silent scrutiny that seemed to pierce his defenses**. There was no judgment in her eyes, only a cold and intense analysis, as if she were cataloging every detail of his existence.
Finally, breaking the oppressive silence, Emma asked, her voice a velvety whisper that filled the luxurious interior of the car:
*"What's your name?"*
The boy hesitated, the question catching him off guard. The last time someone had addressed him with a minimum of consideration seemed like a distant and hazy memory.
*"I... I don't have one."*
The words came out as a hoarse thread of voice, almost inaudible.
A slight furrow formed on Emma's flawless forehead.
*"Everyone has a name. It's one of the first gifts the world gives us, however insignificant it may seem."*
She paused briefly, offering him the opportunity to dispute her statement. When the silence persisted, she continued, in a tone that suggested more a decision than a suggestion:
*"Well then, perhaps finding one will be one of the first things we do together."*
He pursed his thin lips, an incipient confusion mixed with a faint ray of hope dancing in his tired eyes. **The idea of having a name, an identity of his own**—something that differentiated him from the anonymous mass of the streets—was strangely comforting, an anchor in a sea of uncertainties.
---
**The urban landscape began to transform**. The commercial buildings and busy streets gave way to wide, tree-lined avenues, flanked by large, well-lit houses that exuded an aura of silent wealth.
The Bentley slowed down as it approached elaborate wrought iron gates, gliding smoothly along a long cobblestone driveway lined with manicured gardens. The boy watched with wide eyes the mansion that loomed imposingly ahead, **its windows gleaming like eyes in the darkness of the night**.
It was a world apart from the sordidness of the alley from which he had been snatched—a sight he could barely process. The scale of the property, the classic architecture, and the aura of power that emanated from the building made him feel even smaller and more insignificant.
Emma parked the car with surgical precision in front of a majestic entrance, **the silence that followed the engine's熄火 seeming even more charged with expectation**.
*"We're here,"*
she said simply, her voice devoid of any trace of triumph or ostentation, as if arriving at that residence were the most natural thing in the world.
---
She turned completely to face him, and for the first time since she had found him in the alley, **her piercing blue eyes met his directly**, without the mediation of the rearview mirror. There was a cold intensity in her gaze, but also, perhaps, a fleeting glimpse of a purpose yet to be revealed.
*"Are you hungry?"*
The question caught him off guard. Hunger was an almost constant state in his young life, **a familiar ache he had learned to ignore**. The mere mention of the word, spoken with unexpected concern, made his stomach rumble softly. He simply nodded, his throat tight with emotion and sudden consideration.
Emma unlocked her door and got out of the car with her fluid and elegant grace. He watched her walk around the vehicle and open his door. **That small gesture, devoid of any affectation or condescension**, touched something deep within him—a spark of recognition of a humanity he had almost forgotten existed.
Hesitantly, he got out of the car, feeling his sore and tense muscles protest the movement. The air here was cold and clean, carrying subtle aromas of pine trees and unknown nocturnal flowers. He raised his eyes again to the imposing mansion, **feeling tiny and out of place before its silent grandeur**.
Emma waited patiently beside the car, observing him with that indecipherable gaze that seemed to probe the depths of his soul. Then, with a slight nod towards the illuminated entrance, she said:
*"Come in. It's considerably warmer inside, and I imagine you need a hot bath and something substantial to eat."*
He followed her, his hesitant steps breaking the silence of the night as they made their way to the front door, **a massive structure that seemed to swallow his small figure in its vastness**.
As he crossed the threshold, he left behind not only the biting cold of the Boston night, but also the harsh reality of his previous existence. **What awaited him inside that luxurious house, under the enigmatic and calculating gaze of Emma Frost, was an uncertain but undeniably different future.**
---