Naya didn't move.
Not for the food. Not for the bed. Not for the warmth calling from the fireplace.
She stared at the photograph like it had teeth.
The woman in the frame was older than the memory. Wrinkled. Her smile was faint, almost forced — the kind you make when you're surviving, not living. But her eyes…
Those eyes.
Dark, wide, heavy with uncried tears — they belonged to someone who once held Naya's hand through the bars of a cage in a cold concrete room. That woman didn't speak either. Not because she wasn't allowed to, but because whatever they did to her had taken the voice right out of her soul.
Naya remembered her.
She remembered the way the woman used to hum a broken lullaby at night when the guards were drunk and the electricity flickered out. No words, just sound. Like a heartbeat trying not to die.
They had been kept in the same cell for eight months.
And one day… she was gone.
No goodbyes. No explanation. Just a new girl in the corner bunk the next morning, covered in fresh bruises, trembling, too young.
Naya had never asked what happened. In those places, questions were dangerous. Questions meant pain. Or worse, attention.
But now, seven years later, the woman's face stared back at her from Kael's mantel.
What the hell did it mean?
She stepped closer to the frame, her bare feet silent on the wooden floor. She lifted her hand to touch the glass but stopped just short. Her fingers trembled.
The name on the bottom corner of the frame read:
"Celeste Renaud – 2012."
No title. No description. Just a name and a year. Thirteen years ago.
Naya's heartbeat thudded so loudly it filled her ears.
Celeste. That had been her name. She hadn't spoken it aloud, but she'd whispered it in her mind when she lay awake listening to the sound of chains dragging somewhere down the hall.
Celeste.
Gone.
Now framed like a memory.
Why was her picture here?
Naya turned sharply, scanning the room. The thick carpet absorbed the sound of her movement, but every shadow suddenly felt alive. Was Kael watching her? Cameras? Microphones?
She forced herself to breathe, steady and slow.
The room had a tray of food, as promised — soft bread, soup that still steamed, and a glass of water so clear it looked fake. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. Hunger wasn't new. What she needed now was answers.
Celeste's photo. The key on Kael's belt. The way he watched her like he was expecting something.
This place wasn't a home. It was a test.
She turned to the window. Heavy drapes blocked out the view, but when she pulled one aside, she saw a thick stone wall surrounding the estate grounds. No lights. No guards. Just distance.
Freedom felt farther away than ever.
She stepped back. Her head was spinning now. Too many questions. Too many ghosts.
Then… a sound.
A soft shuffle just outside the door.
Her breath caught. She moved quickly — silently — backing into the far corner, crouched low beside the fireplace. The only weapon nearby was a fire poker, and even that felt too heavy for her thin arms.
The doorknob turned.
Slowly.
Not Kael. His hands were too sure. Too quiet.
This was someone else.
A moment later, the door creaked open. And a boy—maybe sixteen—slipped inside, glancing nervously over his shoulder before shutting it behind him.
He didn't see her at first.
He carried a folded towel and a small plastic bottle — shampoo, maybe. A servant?
When he turned, his eyes met hers across the firelight. He gasped, nearly dropping what he held.
"I—I'm sorry," he stammered, stepping back toward the door. "I didn't mean to—he said you might be sleeping—"
"Wait," Naya whispered.
Her voice cracked on the word, rough from disuse.
The boy froze.
She stood slowly, her fingers curled tight around the fire poker even as she lowered it. Her legs shook from adrenaline and hunger, but she steadied herself.
"You saw that woman?" she asked, nodding toward the photo. Her voice was barely audible, but it burned on the way out.
He blinked. "You… you can talk."
"Answer the question."
He swallowed. "Celeste?"
Naya nodded once.
The boy looked down. "She was here. A long time ago."
"Alive?"
He hesitated. That was all the answer she needed.
"What happened to her?" she pressed. "Tell me."
"I—I don't know everything," he whispered. "I was small. But I remember… she was close to the Master. Not like—like you were bought. She was different. She meant something."
"Then why is she gone?"
"I think she ran," he said quietly. "And I think he let her."
Naya stared at him.
That made no sense. No one just ran from places like this. And certainly no one was let go.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"Leo," he said. "I clean the east wing. You'll see me sometimes. Just… don't tell him I came."
Naya didn't nod. She didn't promise. She simply turned back to the photo, her mind spinning faster than her heart could keep up.
Celeste had been close to Kael?
Close enough to be remembered. Framed. Maybe loved.
But gone.
"Do you know where he keeps that key?" she asked suddenly. "The one on his belt."
Leo's eyes widened. "You shouldn't ask things like that."
"I didn't ask you to answer."
He stepped back, fear shifting across his face. "Just… be careful. You're not the first girl to stand in this room thinking you're smarter than him."
And then he slipped out, closing the door quietly behind him.
Naya didn't move. She stood there long after he'd gone, staring at the flame. Her body screamed for food. Her eyelids begged for rest. But her thoughts wouldn't stop clawing.
Celeste had been close to Kael. Had run.
There had been others.
How many?
And now Naya was here, in the same room, with the same look in her eyes.
But she wasn't going to fall for his calm voice or his clean floors or his talk of freedom wrapped in cages.
She wasn't going to wait years just to disappear like Celeste.
She'd survived seven years in chains. She knew how to suffer.
Now, she would learn how to steal.
⸻
Outside the door, Kael stood with a glass in his hand, listening to everything.
His eyes didn't blink.
His mouth didn't move.
He heard her voice.
He smiled.