Then, there was a sound behind him of footsteps. Mia's heart lifted. It was Henry. He stepped into the room like a force of nature, his eyes locked on Carl.
"Put it down," he said.
Carl looked over his shoulder. "You going to call Daddy? Or the press?"
Henry didn't speak. His fists curled at his sides.
"You've had your tantrum," Henry said coldly. "Now get out. Before I break every last tooth in your mouth."
Carl laughed bitterly. "You think you're untouchable. You think this girl makes you brave."
He stepped toward Mia again. That's when Henry stepped between them. Carl raised the knife—but Henry didn't flinch.
"Try it," Henry said. "I dare you."
Something in Carl's face cracked. The knife lowered. Not in fear but in realization.
He wasn't in control anymore. Neither of the room, not of Mia nor himself.He stepped back.
"You'll regret this," he muttered.
"You already do," Mia replied, voice steady.
Carl backed away, eyes darting between them. He slammed the door on his way out.
The police were called. The school was alerted. The security footage was reviewed. Carl was arrested that night.
He wouldn't be back.
Later, Mia sat in the art room, the destroyed painting beside her.
Henry brought her a new canvas.
"I saw what you were painting before he came in," he said softly. "You can finish it again."
Mia looked up at him. "He came here for revenge. And he didn't care what he ruined."
Henry sat beside her. "But you're still here. And you're not ruined."
She smiled sadly. "It still hurts."
"I know," he said. "But you won."
"Did I?" she asked.
"You didn't fight with fists. Or fear. You stood up to him. And you didn't break."
Mia looked down at the blank canvas. Then she picked up a brush. That night, she painted a lake again. But this time, it was darker. A little colder. The sun had already set. But the stars above it were brighter than ever.
Because even in the dark, she was still standing.
Professor Charles Allen was not a man who left things to chance.He ran the Allen Group, managed millions in research funding, trained some of the brightest minds in Lashington, and had built a name that echoed beyond the city. But power had a cost and for him, that cost was control.
When Henry stormed into his study two nights ago, declaring he "cared about Mia" and wouldn't hide it anymore, something shifted in Charles's mind. It wasn't the emotion that bothered him. Henry had always been too sensitive for his liking.
No, it was the name, Mia.
He'd heard it before. He just couldn't remember when. He started simple—his own company's records. He accessed the Allen Group's secure database, typing her name:
' MIA HARRY'
He scrolled through birth records, school transfers, medical forms. She appeared to be average. Too average. Her school files were clean. Her medical reports were strangely blank in early childhood, with little to no information before age five. That was his first red flag.
Then he checked local hospital birth registries but he saw nothing.
Her name appeared in her adopted parents' records only after they moved to Lashington. Before that? No sign.
Charles narrowed his eyes. He picked up the phone.
"Put someone on tracing her lineage. DNA. Any travel between cities. I want everything. Full sweep."
"Yes, Professor. Any specific concern?"
"She may not be who she says she is," Charles replied. "Or rather, who she thinks she is."
Hours passed.
By morning, a thick digital file was sent to his personal terminal.
He opened it with his usual glass of brandy in hand.
And what he saw made him pause.
SUBJECT ID: ML-7
REAL NAME: CLASSIFIED
ASSIGNED GUARDIAN COVER: LARRY FAMILY
POTENTIAL TRAIT MARKERS: COGNITIVE DISTORTION DETECTION / LINGUISTIC PERCEPTION ANOMALY
Charles's hand froze over the keyboard.
ML-7.
A name from the *Project Lily* trials. He hadn't heard that code in over a decade. He continued reading, heart now thudding.
"Subject showed advanced sensitivity to emotional dishonesty. Ability to distinguish lies from truth in speech patterns. Level: HIGH."
"Subject removed from trial location after Project collapse. Memory suppression initiated. Identity rerouted. Monitored as inactive."
Mia.
Mia was one of the experiments. He leaned back, stunned. All this time, she had lived under the radar. A discarded test, protected by someone inside the system. But now… she was close to his son. And somehow, her abilities had awakened.
Charles pulled up the last known handler listed on her file. There were no names, no connections. Just silence. He stared at the screen, gripping the glass in his hand so hard it cracked. Not only was Mia more dangerous than he realized—but someone had kept her hidden from him. Someone had *helped* her disappear from his radar.
And now, she was back.
And Henry had feelings for her.
That evening, Charles sat in the dim light of his private office, staring at an image of Mia printed from the file. In the picture, she was walking down a school hallway, unaware a camera had been watching.
"She doesn't know who she is," he murmured to himself.
"But I will."
He opened a new document.
Project: Reinitiate Contact. Monitor. Isolate. Contain.
Then, with cold precision, he typed:
Objective: Mia Lawrence – ML-7
Status: Under Observation
Secondary Directive: Keep Henry unaware.
He stared at that last line for a moment. Then, slowly, he deleted it. No. Henry would find out. And when he did… it would break him. But maybe that was necessary. For science, for legacy and for control.
Sunlight poured through the kitchen window, casting golden streaks across the tiled floor. The smell of eggs and toast filled the air. Mia sat at the small breakfast table in her pajamas, legs curled beneath her as she stirred her tea absentmindedly.
Mrs. Larry placed a plate in front of her and smiled gently. "Eat, sweetheart. You haven't touched a full meal in days."
"Thanks, Mom," Mia murmured, picking up a fork.
Mr. Harry, her father, sat across the table with the morning newspaper folded neatly beside his coffee. He glanced at Mia from time to time, as if he had something to say—but hadn't found the right moment.
The air felt too calm. Forced, even. As if everyone were trying too hard to act like everything was normal.
But Mia knew better. She always did.
"I've been thinking," Mr. Harry finally said, adjusting his glasses. "This place… it's getting too old. Too many creaks and cracks. Too many strange nights, and other things."
Mia looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," he said, "I found a new house. Out near Rivercliff. Peaceful neighborhood and quiet. We could move in a few weeks. Leave this place behind."
Mia blinked. "Just like that?"
Mrs. Larry jumped in. "It'll be a fresh start. You've been through a lot, honey. New place, new energy."
"But this house is fine," Mia said. "It's old, sure, but… it's ours."
She didn't say the rest. She didn't mention the room with the locked door again or her diary hidden beneath her bed or Lily's whispers in the dark.
Mr. Harry sipped his coffee too calmly. That's when Mia noticed something else. Her diary—the one Lily had written in—was gone from her nightstand that morning. She thought maybe she had misplaced it.
But now, as she watched her father's face, she knew.
"You've read it," she said softly.
Mrs. Larry froze mid-bite. Mr. Harry's hand paused mid-lift with the coffee cup.
"Read what?" he asked carefully.
"You know what," Mia said. Her voice didn't rise. But it carried weight. "My diary about Lily."
Mr. Harry set the cup down. "Mia, listen"
"You read my things without asking?" she said. "Why?"
"Because I'm worried about you," he said, tone tightening. "That diary… it's not normal, Mia. It talks about dreams and shadows and... and voices. About a girl who's been dead for years. You said you see her."
"I do," Mia said.
He stood up now, voice rising. "No. You think you do. And that room you keep talking about—the one in the hallway—it's locked for a reason. It's just storage. Nothing more."
"You're lying," Mia said. Calm. Certain.
Mr. Harry's face faltered.
"I can feel it," she whispered. "Every time you speak about that room. About Lily, about the move. Something's not right."
Mrs. Larry reached for Mia's hand. "We're trying to protect you."
"From what?" Mia asked, pulling away. "From the truth?"
Silence stretched across the room like fog. Mr. Harry finally spoke, quiet now. "I read the diary because I had to. And I'm moving us out because I don't know what else to do. I've heard the footsteps too, Mia. The voices. I see the door open sometimes when it should be shut. I'm scared. And I don't know how to protect you from something I can't explain."
Mia's breath caught. He had seen it too. He just never told her.
"I don't think moving will stop it," she said softly.
"I have to try," he said. "You're my daughter."
She stood slowly. "Then trust me. Enough to stop hiding things from me."
Their eyes locked. Something unspoken passed between them, understanding, fear, guilt.
"I'll find the diary," he said.
"Please do," Mia replied. "Because I think Lily should have something in there I haven't seen yet."
She left the table and walked upstairs, her appetite gone. Mr. Harry watched her go. Mrs. Larry placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You didn't tell her the whole truth," she said quietly.
"No," he said, staring at the wall. "I didn't."