"I know you're in there, Taya."
Mrs. Agatha's voice sent a chill through me.
Aria quickly shoved the photograph into her pocket.
"Don't say a word," she whispered.
The door opened.
Mrs. Agatha stood before us, her eyes moving from Aria to me.
"What are you doing in a restricted room?"
Neither of us answered.
She stepped inside.
"Aria, leave us."
"But—"
"Now."
Aria looked at me apologetically before slipping past her.
I wanted to follow, but Mrs. Agatha blocked the doorway.
"Where did you find the photograph?" she asked.
My heart skipped.
"What photograph?"
Her expression hardened.
"Don't lie to me, Taya."
I swallowed. "Why are you so interested in it?"
For the first time, she looked genuinely angry.
"Because some things should remain buried."
"Why? What happened to that little girl?"
Mrs. Agatha stared at me.
Then she said something I never expected.
"Your parents made a terrible mistake bringing you here."
I frowned.
"My parents?"
She immediately looked away, as though she'd said too much.
Before I could question her, she walked out and locked the storage room behind me.
I stood there, stunned.
My parents had brought me to the orphanage when I was little. That was the story I'd always known.
But nobody had ever mentioned a photograph, a second girl, or a mistake.
And now I couldn't stop wondering whether the people who raised me had been protecting me—or hiding something from me.
---
That night, I waited until everyone was asleep before approaching Aria's bed.
"Show me the photograph."
She sat up slowly.
"Taya, please—"
"Don't tell me to be patient. You promised to show me the truth."
Aria reached beneath her pillow and pulled out the photograph.
I turned it over again.
This time, I noticed something beneath the date.
A name had been scratched out.
I tilted the photograph toward the moonlight coming through the window.
Some letters were still visible.
...PHOEBE.
My breath caught.
Phoebe?
What did she have to do with my childhood?
I turned to Aria, but she was staring at the doorway.
"What's wrong?" I whispered.
She looked back at me.
Her face had gone pale.
"Taya, you need to listen to me carefully."
"To what?"
"Phoebe isn't the person she claims to be."
Before I could ask what she meant, a shadow moved outside our window.
Someone had been listening.
And whoever it was had just heard everything.