“Children,” she said in a voice that could have frozen boiling water, “are never as invisible as they think they are.”
Sky’s stomach twisted. She nodded because she didn’t know what else to do.
They kept walking. Room after room. Everything too clean, too perfect, too quiet.
Then Sky heard it.
A small sound, muffled, like someone crying and trying not to. A sound she recognized from nights when her mom cried in the bathroom with the fan on, thinking Sky couldn’t hear.
She stopped.
Her mother didn’t notice; she was too focused on the man with the clipboard.
Sky turned her head. Down the hall, a door stood slightly open. The sound was coming from there.
Her feet moved before she’d decided anything. She walked toward the door, heart pounding, and pushed it open just enough to slip inside.
A girl sat on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest, hands covering her head. Pale skin. Blonde hair. Maybe eight years old. Bald patches showed through, angry and red. The girl’s shoulders shook.
She looked up when Sky entered. Her eyes were red from crying.
“I’m not supposed to talk to anyone,” the girl said in a small, flat voice.
“I’m Sky,” Sky said softly. “I’m seven.”
The girl hesitated.
“I’m Eloin,” she said finally. “I’m eight.”
“You look sad,” Sky said.
Eloin looked down.
“I’m not supposed to be seen,” she said.
“Everybody should be seen,” Sky replied.
For a moment, something flickered across Eloin’s face. It looked like hope.
Sky noticed the way Eloin kept rubbing her head, fingers hovering over certain spots as if checking whether they still hurt.
“Does it hurt?” Sky asked.
Eloin froze. Her breathing hitched.
“A little,” she whispered.
“Can I look?”
Eloin started to answer, but heavy footsteps thundered down the hall.
“Sky!” her mother called.
Miss Calva appeared in the doorway, fury carved into every line of her face.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she snapped.
“She looked sad,” Sky tried.
“You are not here to make friends,” Miss Calva said sharply. “Do not come back to this room. Ever.”
Sky stepped back, but as she left, she glanced at Eloin one more time.
Eloin’s lips moved.
Help.
That night, Sky couldn’t sleep. She lay in the dark listening to the hum of the fridge and the distant sound of traffic, but all she could see was Eloin’s face—the fear in her eyes, the way she flinched at every sound.
“Mom,” Sky whispered into the dark. “That girl at the mansion… something’s wrong.”