At eight years old, Lily stood in the middle of the polished marble lobby, her small, dirt-streaked toes leaving faint red prints on the floor. Her lungs felt like crushed glass. She had carried nine-year-old Noah—a boy easily twice her weight—for seven long blocks across asphalt heated by the scorching afternoon sun. Her bare feet were blistered and bleeding, but she hadn’t stopped once. Not when her knees buckled. Not when her arms trembled so hard her bones felt like cracking.

The silence in the bedroom was thick enough to suffocate a person.

Lily backed away slowly until her spine hit the headboard of Noah’s bed. She could hear the rapid beep-beep-beep of Noah’s heart monitor accelerating.

"I... I just saw Noah collapse," Lily lied, her voice shaking, though she kept her eyes locked on Arthur. "I didn't see anyone else."

Arthur grinned, but the smile never reached his eyes. He picked up the glass of milk with the white powder residue and pushed it toward her.

"Then drink this, dear," Arthur said softly. "It will help you sleep. You look so tired."

"She doesn't want it!" Noah suddenly screamed, trying to sit up, but his weakness pulled him back down. "Get out of my room, Uncle Arthur!"

"Quiet, boy!" Arthur snapped, his friendly facade cracking for a brief second. He reached out with his heavy hand, grabbing Lily’s chin firmly, squeezing her cheeks until it hurt. "Drink it, little girl. Or I will make sure that old shoemaker at the railyard—what was his name, Thomas?—doesn't survive the night."

Lily’s eyes widened with utter terror. Mr. Thomas! He was the only person who had ever taken care of her before this nightmare began!

"No! Don't hurt Mr. Thomas!" Lily sobbed.

"Then drink!" Arthur ordered, raising the glass to her lips.

Just as the rim touched her teeth, Lily used every ounce of strength left in her small body. She slammed her forehead forward, crashing into Arthur’s nose!

CRACK!

"AAAGH!" Arthur shrieked, letting go of her chin as blood spouted from his nostrils. The glass fell to the floor, shattering into dozens of pieces, white liquid splattering across the rug.

"Run, Lily! RUN!" Noah yelled at the top of his lungs.

Lily didn't hesitate. Despite her bandaged, painful feet, she leaped off the bed, ducked under Arthur’s flailing arms, and darted out into the long, dark corridor of the Sterling Manor.

"GUARDS! CATCH THAT GIRL!" Arthur roared, wiping blood from his face as he stumbled out after her. "SHE HAS PSYCHOTIC DELUSIONS! DON'T LET HER LEAVE THE ESTATE!"

Lily ran blindly down the winding staircases, her lungs burning just like they did in the park. But this time, she wasn't running to save someone else—she was running for her life.

She smashed through the rear glass doors leading to the massive courtyard estate, throwing herself into the pouring rain that had just begun to fall. Behind her, three heavily armed private security guards paid by Arthur charged into the night, their flashlights cutting through the darkness like hunting blades.