"Ah, damn with this drama..." Sara rolled her eyes.

She had been holding the dignified pose required of her for the staff lined along the stairway: hands clasped, chin level, the silk of her green dress settled at the line her tailor had insisted upon.

The pose lasted until Ayla reached the third step. Then, Sarah moved.

She came down to meet them. Her heels struck the marble in quick, impatient clicks.

"You took forever. Did you eat anything in the car? Are you cold? Why are you walking so slowly? Alex, did you take the long way again?"

Alex bowed an inch. "Madam asked for the long way last week."

’Because you loved the street food in north corner.’

"I never said that."

’Idiot, don’t you see Damien here?’

"Madam said it twice."

Ayla controlled her expression while she heard the mind voices of these two.

’Street food. North corner.’ She noted that mentally.

Sarah waved him off. She pulled Ayla into a hug that had not yet learned restraint. The hug smelled of perfume and something warmer underneath—the residue of a long bath taken in a hurry.

Ayla allowed it. She noted the perfume; it was different from what she wore at the hospital. This humane way of presenting themselves for the occasion piqued her interest.

Damien came down two steps at a time. His face stayed cold. His mind did not. The Twin Lens read him without effort.

’She is smaller than I thought.’

That sounded like an insult to her. She decided to grow bigger than him in the future for revenge.

’Hmph.’

’Why is she so small? Has anyone been feeding her properly?’

Ayla inwardly rolled her eyes. She wondered what his expression would be if he knew she loved to eat his son’s brain the most. Kenji felt the hunger in her gaze and involuntarily stepped away.

’Sarah said she had not eaten. Has she eaten now? Why is she standing so straight? She has been hurt. Has someone hit her? Kenji, I will deal with you later.’

Once again, Kenji felt a cold breeze over his body. Although his mind was full of thoughts, his facial expression did not shift. He extended a hand. Formal. The gesture of a man greeting a stranger at a meeting.

"Welcome home."

Ayla took it without reserve. Her grip was small. His engulfed hers.

’They are so soft and weak,’ his mind screamed, ’will my grip break it?’

Ayla was fuming inwardly. ’Your hand is weaker.’ She gritted her teeth. But her red face was misunderstood; he quickly released her hand and coughed.

"The food is getting cold." He turned around. ’I hurt her,’ his inner voice cried.

Ayla was already shaking. Not only had he called her short, he also called her weak.

The walk through the foyer unfolded around them. Ayla filed away the marble, the chandelier overhead, and the painting on the long wall whose reference she had no memory for.

There was the smell of wood polish and old flowers. Sarah kept a hand on Ayla’s shoulder for the entire walk. The grip was firm enough to suggest she was afraid the girl would vanish if released.

Kenji walked two paces behind them. He spoke to no one. Damien noticed.

’Why is the boy so quiet? He is usually arguing about something by now.’

Ayla was also confused. Why was he so indifferent to her now? If Kenji could hear her thoughts, he would be screaming.

Girl, you manipulated me and my family, and you’re complaining now? How daring!

The dining room was longer than the corridor that led to it. The far end of the table sat polished and empty; the near end had been set for four.

Crystal water glasses. White plates. Three forks per setting. Ayla took her assigned chair and stared at the forks.

Sarah caught the stare. Her face crumpled.

’She does not know which fork to use. Of course she does not. They never taught her.’

Damien read his wife without her speaking, so he spoke to Ayla.

"The smallest is for the salad. The middle for the main. The far one for dessert. If you forget, copy your mother. She is the one who knows."

The word mother landed in the room. Sarah’s eyes went bright at once. Ayla blinked twice. Kenji finally looked up.

A staff member ladled clear broth into Ayla’s bowl. Ayla picked up the smallest spoon and tried it. The taste arrived in layers: salt, butter, and something herbal she had no word for.

A sweetness lingered underneath the herb. Her face did not change. Inside, she had a private opinion.

’Second best. After Kenji’s brain.’

Across the table, Kenji had been watching her face for a reaction. He saw none. He relaxed by an inch.

’Luckily she eats home-cooked meals.’

Sarah watched Ayla’s slow, methodical eating. Her own soup sat untouched. Damien set his spoon down halfway through the course.

"Tell me where you grew up."

Ayla considered. The cover story sat on the front shelf of her mind.

"In a small place. Underground."

Sarah’s hand tightened around her napkin. "How did you eat?"

"I caught what I could."

"What did you catch?"

"Small things first. Bigger things later." Ayla recalled her progression from killing slimes to hobgoblins and felt proud, unaware of the changing faces of the people at the table.

Damien’s mind wasn’t quiet. ’Underground. Catching food. By the gods, what kind of childhood is that?’

Sarah began to blink rapidly. "Did anyone protect you?"

"I protected myself." After saying that, she glanced at Damien. ’I am not weak.’

But in his eyes, that was a complaint. Damien’s fists curled without him noticing.

"Were you alone?" he asked in a low voice.

"Mostly."

Across the table, Kenji was shaking his head almost imperceptibly. Ayla was telling the literal truth about the tunnels, but the parents heard every answer as a description of an Outer Walls slum childhood.

Each truth landed harder than a lie would have.

Sarah excused herself for a moment. She returned three minutes later with a slight redness around her eyes. She picked up her water glass but did not drink.

"Forgive me," she said to Ayla, her voice measured. "I am simply happy to have you here."

Ayla considered the woman’s face.

’I will kill him. I will kill Damien. I will kill whoever let her live like that. I will kill myself for not knowing she existed.’

’Kenji’s mother is suicidal,’ was all Ayla thought, shaking her head.

The main course arrived: roasted lamb under a dark glaze, vegetables cut into shapes she had no word for, and bread that broke in soft layers.

Ayla ate slowly, filing each flavor. Cooked food sure tastes good. I should cook brains from now on.

Once again, Kenji shivered, feeling her sneaky gaze.

Damien watched her without eating.

’She eats like someone who has never known a meal would arrive on time. She is rationing without knowing she is rationing.’

Ayla removed a piece of onion innocently; she didn’t like the taste. That’s why she moved every ounce of onions from the meat.

The taste of lamb was great. Tastier than goblin brains.

Damien poured her more water before her glass was empty. He cut an extra piece of lamb onto her plate without asking. Ayla noticed.

The man’s mind was loud with self-recrimination, but his face said nothing. She decided she liked him.

The dessert arrived in small porcelain cups. A dense chocolate confection: dark, bitter, and rich. Ayla took one bite and stopped chewing for a full second. Her eyes sparkled at the taste.

’WOW!’

Sarah, watching, asked, "Do you like it?"

"Yes."

The "yes" was the most direct answer Ayla had given all night. Sarah’s eyes brightened.

"Then we will have it again tomorrow."

"Mm-kay," Ayla said with a mouth full of chocolate.

The meal closed slowly. Sarah walked Ayla up the stairs personally, one hand on the small of her back. Damien held Kenji back at the door, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder.

"Tomorrow we talk."

"Yes, Father."

The room Sarah had prepared was warmer than any chamber Ayla had ever slept in. The bed alone could have held three of her.

The window looked out across the dark estate to the city beyond the wall. Sarah tucked her in, smoothed the blanket to her chin, and brushed the hair off Ayla’s forehead, kissing the spot her hand had cleared.

"Sleep well, my love."

The word landed. The door closed.

Ayla lay flat and looked at the ceiling. It was white, with plasterwork shaped like leaves and a faint chandelier in the center.

For the first time since birth, Ayla didn’t have to worry about someone disturbing her sleep. Her eyes wandered toward the window.

The night sky had fully arrived. Stars she had never seen, never named, and never suspected existed filled the air. Compared to the darkness of the tunnel ceilings, this was a different world.

"It’s beautiful outside the tunnel." A contented smile graced her lips.