“I call it protecting a child from someone who manipulates fear like it’s medicine,” Maren said.
The day passed in tense quiet. Richard Lennox, Toby and the little girl’s father, seemed torn between disbelief and the faint glimmer of trust he’d begun to place in Maren. Later, in his study, she laid out the first piece of evidence: a photograph of a young girl named Liora from Brazil, her eyes wide and haunted, and a note detailing the aliases Celia had used. “She hid Liora in a wall,” Maren said quietly. “Told Toby if he spoke, he’d be next.”
Richard swallowed, pale. “I…I can’t believe it.”
“It’s not about belief,” Maren said. “It’s about the facts. Look at the names, the hairpins, the toys, the medications. She’s left a trail for anyone smart enough to see it.”
That night, Maren slipped through the hallways again, moving like a shadow. She found a vent in the old nursery and pressed her ear to it. A faint whisper reached her: “Don’t cry… or she’ll put me back.” Her fingers scrabbled at the vent, uncovering a crumpled, water-stained photo of Liora, with Celia looming behind her, smiling coldly. Toby’s small voice broke the silence.
“Miss Maren…that’s where she put her.”