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.

Breakfast was oatmeal. Watery, lumpy oatmeal.

Frank sat at the head of the table, checking his watch every thirty seconds. He looked like he was about to be sick.

Suddenly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a white envelope. He slid it across the table toward Aria.

"It's not much," he said, his voice trembling. "But it's for a mattress. You can't sleep on that wood. I heard you walking around last night."

Aria opened the envelope. Inside were crumpled bills. Ones, fives, a few tens. Maybe a hundred and twenty dollars total.

Jenny stood up. She unzipped her backpack and slammed a roll of cash onto the table.

"Tips from the diner," she muttered, not meeting Aria's eyes. "Fifty bucks."

Leo pushed his Nintendo Switch across the table. "Sell it. I don't play it anyway."

Toby ran to his room and came back shaking a plastic piggy bank.

Aria looked at the pile on the table. The video game console, the crumpled tips, the piggy bank.

It was more money than they had. It was everything.

Her throat tightened. A physical lump formed, making it hard to swallow. In the Carlisle house, money was a weapon. Here, it was a bandage.

She pushed the envelope back to Frank. She pushed the money back to Jenny. She slid the game back to Leo.

"No," she said.

"Don't be proud, girl!" Susan cried out. "You're hurting!"

"I have money," Aria said. "I have... savings. From before."

"Liar," Leo said, but without heat. "Dad said they cut you off."

"I have a bad back," Aria said, improvising quickly. "A medical condition. I need a specific orthopedic bed. It costs thousands. This..." she gestured to the pile, "wouldn't even cover the delivery deposit."

Frank's face fell. He looked devastated.

"Keep the money," Aria said, grabbing Frank's rough hand. "Use it for Jenny's tuition. Use it for Toby. Investing in them is investing in me."

She stood up, grabbing her jacket. "I'm going to handle it. I have a contact who sells used medical equipment."

She walked out of the apartment before she could cry. She leaned against the graffiti-covered wall in the hallway and exhaled a shuddering breath.

She pulled out her phone and dialed.

Nate.

"I'm here," his voice answered instantly.

"I need a Hästens mattress. The Vividus. Delivered to Queens. Tonight."

There was a pause. "Aria. That's a four-hundred-thousand-dollar bed. You're putting it in a walk-up in Queens? You'll get robbed."

"No one will rob me," she said coldly. "And Nate?"

"Yeah?"

"Forge an invoice. Make the total two thousand, eight hundred dollars. Label it as 'Salvage Retrieval and sanitation fee'. Make it look like I paid to haul away a damaged hotel unit."

"You're insane," Nate said, but she could hear the smile in his voice. "It'll be there by six."

Aria hung up. She walked to the subway station.

A billboard loomed over the entrance. It was a Carlisle Group ad. Vanessa's face, airbrushed to perfection, smiled down at the commuters.

Aria stared at it. She didn't blink.

A homeless man bumped into her, his hand dipping clumsily into her pocket.

Aria caught his wrist. She didn't break it. She twisted it just enough to make him drop the wallet.

She reached into her other pocket and pulled out a card for a shelter she funded anonymously.

"Go here," she said, pressing it into his dirty palm. "Ask for Maria. Show her this card. Don't say who sent you. Just say: 'The debt is paid.' You'll get a hot meal and a bed."

The man stared at her, mouth agape.

Aria turned and descended into the subway, the darkness swallowing her whole.