Back at the mansion, Lena watched police cars drive away with the only adult who had ever understood her without forcing words. Lena didn’t cry. She rarely did. But her hands trembled against the wheelchair’s armrests. She knew Caroline was innocent. The fear in Caroline’s eyes wasn’t guilt—it was betrayal. And deep in her quiet mind, Lena held the images, sounds, and movements everyone else had missed. The truth no one had asked her to share.
In the days after Caroline’s arrest, Lena moved through the mansion like a silent ghost, watching, remembering, gathering strength. Adults hurried past her with clipped voices and heavy steps, convinced she was too fragile, too distant, too quiet to understand. But Lena understood more than anyone. Her father was gone. Caroline was gone. And Marissa’s presence felt darker now, sharper, as if the walls themselves recoiled when she entered a room.