Frank pushed open the door. It creaked on its hinges, revealing a room that was barely larger than a walk-in closet at the Carlisle estate.

"This was Jenny and... and Vanessa's room," Frank said, his voice dropping on the name.

The walls were plastered with old posters and peeling stickers. A bunk bed took up most of the space. The bottom bunk was empty, stripped to the bare mattress. The wall beside it was a shrine to Vanessa-certificates, ribbons, photos of a smiling girl with blonde hair.

Aria stepped inside. The air was stale, carrying the faint, cloying scent of vanilla body spray. Vanessa's scent.

Jenny squeezed past her. "Top bunk is mine," she said, claiming her territory. "Don't touch my drafting table."

She pointed to a small, cluttered desk in the corner covered in sketches.

"Understood," Aria said.

She dropped her backpack onto the bottom bunk. The mattress springs groaned loudly. It was thin, lumpy.

Leo appeared in the doorway. He saw Aria looking at the photos on the wall.

"Don't you dare take those down," he spat out. "She's coming back. This is temporary."

Aria looked at the photos. Vanessa smiling at a school dance. Vanessa holding a trophy.

"I have no intention of touching them," Aria said.

She unzipped her backpack. Leo craned his neck, trying to see inside. He expected stacks of cash, jewelry, something valuable.

Aria reached into the hidden, padded back compartment-the one Leo hadn't noticed-and pulled out a slim, carbon-fiber laptop. She placed it under the pillow, then pulled out a simple black t-shirt and a travel-sized toiletry bag.

"Where's the bathroom?" she asked Jenny.

"Down the hall, last door on the left," Jenny said, not looking up from her phone. "Boiler is old. You get ten minutes of hot water if you're lucky."

Aria walked to the bathroom. The tiles were cracked, the grout dark with mold. The shower curtain hung by three rings. She turned the knob. The pipes shuddered, and water sputtered out-brown at first, then clear. It was lukewarm at best.

She stripped and stepped under the spray. She didn't flinch at the cold. She had endured ice baths during training that made this feel like a spa day. She washed quickly, efficiently, scrubbing the scent of the Carlisle mansion off her skin.

When she returned to the room, towel-drying her hair, she froze.

Leo was kneeling by her bed. He had her backpack open. His hand was reaching for the laptop sleeve.

Aria crossed the room in two strides. She didn't yell. She moved with the silence of a predator.

Her hand clamped around Leo's wrist. She didn't use the lethal nerve pinch she knew; she used simple leverage, twisting his arm just enough to off-balance him-a trick taught in any basic women's self-defense class.

Leo yelped, a high-pitched sound of pain and shock. He dropped the bag, his knees hitting the floor hard.

"Hey!" Jenny shouted, jumping down from the top bunk. "What the hell!"

Aria realized what she was doing. The red haze of defensive instinct cleared. She released Leo's wrist instantly.

"Don't touch my bag," she said. Her voice was calm, but there was a tremor of steel underneath. "That is my boundary."

Leo scrambled back, rubbing his wrist. It was already turning red. He looked at her with fear. Not the bratty annoyance from before. Genuine fear.

"There's no money in there," Aria said.

She reached into the side pocket of the bag-the one Leo hadn't touched-and pulled out a small, plush bear keychain. It was worn, missing an eye.

"I found this wedged in the bed frame," she lied. "It must be hers."

She held it out to Leo.

Leo stared at the bear. His aggression deflated. His lip wobbled. He snatched the bear from her hand, clutching it to his chest like a lifeline.

Aria sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress offered zero support. Her back, scarred and sensitive, throbbed in protest.

Jenny turned off the light. The room plunged into darkness.

Aria lay down, staring at the bottom of the top bunk. She could hear Jenny shifting above her, sighing.

She pulled her phone from under her pillow, dimming the screen to the lowest setting. She opened her trading app.

RayMing Tech was up 5%. Her net worth had increased by three million dollars in the time it took her to eat meatloaf.

She closed the app.

Outside the door, in the living room, she heard Frank's hushed voice.

"We can pawn my watch, Susan. We need to get a mattress pad or something. That thing is rock hard."

"No, Frank, you love that watch..."

Aria closed her eyes.

The sky was a bruised purple when Aria woke. She moved silently, slipping into a pair of nondescript sweatpants she'd bought from a street vendor the night before. Her back throbbed-a dull, grinding ache from the old fracture-so running was out of the question. Instead, she walked with a rapid, predatory pace, mapping the neighborhood, identifying exit routes and blind spots while the city slept.

She stopped at a bagel shop on the corner. She bought a dozen assorted bagels and two large coffees. She paid with a debit card linked to a shell company, untraceable to the Carlisle estate.

When she walked back into the apartment, Susan was staring into the empty refrigerator with a look of despair.

Aria placed the bag on the table. The smell of fresh yeast and coffee filled the room.

Susan turned, her eyes widening. "Oh, honey, you didn't have to... that's expensive."

"The owner gave me a discount," Aria lied smoothly. "End of the morning rush."

Toby stumbled out of the bedroom, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He saw the bagels and gasped. "Everything bagel!"

Aria smiled. "I need to go to the store for some basics. Toby, want to come?"

Susan hesitated, then reached into a jar on the counter. She pulled out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. It was soft with age.

"Get some milk," she said. "And maybe some soap."

Aria took the bill. It felt heavier than the black card she had thrown away. She folded it reverently and put it in her pocket.

The street was bustling. Aria held Toby's hand. His palm was sticky and warm. He pointed at everything.

"Look! Candy apples!"

A street vendor was dipping apples into bright red sugar syrup. Toby's eyes tracked the glistening fruit with pure longing.

Aria stopped. "Two, please."

She paid with the loose change in her own pocket. Toby took the apple, his face lighting up like he'd been handed a diamond. He took a bite, red sugar coating his lips immediately.

They walked past an art supply store. Toby stopped again. He pressed his face against the glass, staring at a set of Copic markers displayed on a velvet stand. He didn't ask for them. He knew better. He just looked, tracing the shapes with his finger on the glass.

Aria memorized the brand.

Inside the supermarket, it was chaos. People pushed and shoved. Aria navigated the aisles with military precision, selecting items that were on sale to keep up the charade.

They reached the checkout line. Just as Aria was about to put her basket down, three guys in oversized hoodies cut in front of her. They laughed, ignoring the line of people behind them.

The cashier, a young girl, looked down, too scared to speak.

Aria felt Toby stiffen beside her. He gripped her hand tighter.

Aria tapped her fingers on the handle of the shopping cart. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap. A rhythm to slow her heart rate, to keep the violence contained.

She stepped forward. She didn't raise her voice. She lowered it.

"The line starts back there."

The leader of the group turned slowly. He had a scar over his eyebrow and a sneer practiced in the mirror.

"What did you say, bitch?"

Aria looked him in the eyes. She didn't blink. She projected a sudden, terrifying emptiness. It was the look of someone who had seen things that would make this street thug wet his pants.

"I said, get in line."

The air between them dropped ten degrees. The thug's sneer faltered. His instincts, primal and warning, screamed at him that he had made a mistake. He saw the way she stood-balanced, ready.

He muttered something under his breath, spat on the floor, and jerked his head at his friends. They moved to the back of the line.

Toby looked up at her, his mouth open.

"You're like a superhero," he whispered.

"Just manners, Toby."

On the walk back, Toby chewed on the last of his apple.

"Leo cried last night," he said suddenly.

Aria looked down. "What?"

"After you went to sleep. He was holding Vanessa's picture. He misses her."

Aria felt a pang of sympathy. Not for Vanessa, but for the boy who had been manipulated by her.

When they got home, Aria handed Susan the change. Every penny.

Susan looked at the candy apple stick in Toby's hand, then at the groceries. She didn't ask where the extra money came from. She just squeezed Aria's shoulder.

Aria went to her room. She pulled out her phone.

A text from Nate: [Carlisle Legal just froze your trust. You have zero access to the family accounts. They're trying to starve you out.]

Aria typed back: [Let them try. I don't like owing people anyway.]

She smiled, a cold, sharp expression.

3:00 AM.

The sound of a police siren wailed in the distance, closer than it ever would be in the Upper East Side. Aria lay on the wooden slats of the bunk bed. Her back was screaming. The lack of support was aggravating the old injury, sending spasms of sharp pain radiating up her spine. She reached into her bag, dry-swallowing a high-strength anti-inflammatory she kept for emergencies.

She shifted. The bed frame let out a screech that sounded like a dying animal.

Above her, Jenny groaned in her sleep.

Aria froze. She couldn't stay here. She needed to move.

She slid off the bed, her feet silent on the floorboards. She crept into the living room.

The moonlight filtered through the grime on the windows, casting long, distorted shadows.

Someone was sitting by the balcony door.

Leo.

He was hugging his knees to his chest, the glow of a phone screen illuminating his tear-streaked face.

He didn't hear her approach. He was too focused on the screen.

Aria stopped a few feet away. She could see the image on his phone. It was Vanessa's Instagram story.

A picture of a porcelain teacup on a silver tray, overlooking the Carlisle rose garden. Caption: Home sweet home. So blessed.

Leo wiped his nose on his sleeve. "She's happy," he whispered, his voice thick. "She forgot us already."

Aria sat down on the floor opposite him. She didn't try to touch him.

"Look at the cup, Leo."

Leo jumped, nearly dropping the phone. He glared at her. "What?"

"Look at the cup in the picture. Is there steam?"

Leo frowned. He zoomed in. "No."

"Is there tea in it?"

It looked empty.

"It's a prop," Aria said softly. "Eleanor Carlisle makes her stage those photos. That cup has been sitting on that table for three years. No one drinks from it."

Leo stared at her. "How do you know?"

"I lived in that museum for seventeen years."

Leo looked back at the photo. The glamour suddenly looked cold. Staged.

"She... she never mentioned us?" he asked, the vulnerability in his voice breaking Aria's heart.

Aria hesitated. She could tell him the truth-that Vanessa called them "the help" behind their backs. That Vanessa laughed about their poverty to her rich friends.

But looking at Leo's shattered face, she couldn't do it.

"She keeps a photo of you guys," Aria lied. "Tucked in the frame of her mirror. Where Eleanor can't see it."

Leo let out a breath that sounded like a sob. He buried his face in his knees and cried. Not the angry crying from before, but a release. A grieving.

Toby appeared from the hallway, rubbing his eyes. He saw Leo crying and waddled over. He held out the sticky remains of his candy apple.

"Eat, Leo," he said sleepily. "Sugar helps."

Aria watched the three of them sitting in the moonlight-the fake heiress, the angry brother, the innocent child.

The medication was starting to kick in, dulling the fire in her back to a manageable ember.

She stood up and picked Leo up. He was heavy, but to her, he felt light. He was asleep before she even got him to the couch.

She went back to her room. She picked up her phone.

An email notification from Nebula Studios Board of Directors: [Acquisition proposal for Carlisle Media Subsidiary is ready for your review.]

Aria stared at the screen. The hunger in her eyes wasn't for food. It was for justice.