Stepping into the designated wing, Elara felt a chill deeper than the air-conditioning. Gleaming marble floors reflected the soft light from sconces, leading her down a silent corridor. A heavy oak door, intricately carved, marked Mia's room. Taking a deep breath, Elara pushed it open. Mia sat on a plush carpet, facing a window that overlooked a manicured garden. Her back was to the door. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, but didn't seem to touch the girl. Her small frame, delicate and still, was almost lost in the vastness of the room. "Hello, Mia," Elara said softly. Her voice sounded too loud in the quiet space. No response. The girl remained motionless. Moving closer, Elara knelt a few feet away. Mia's dark hair fell forward, obscuring her face. A doll, pristine and unplayed with, lay beside her. "My name is Elara," she continued, keeping her tone gentle. "I'm Lily's mom. We're staying here now." Still, nothing. Not a twitch. Not a glance. Elara picked up the doll, a porcelain figure with wide, painted eyes. "She's beautiful, isn't she? Do you like dolls?" Mia didn't acknowledge the question. Her gaze remained fixed on the world outside, a world she seemed to observe without truly seeing. Days bled into a week. Elara visited Mia every afternoon. She brought storybooks, reading aloud in a soothing voice. She brought crayons and paper, sketching simple flowers and animals. She even brought a small, fluffy stuffed animal that Lily adored. Nothing worked. Mia was a ghost in her own lavish prison. Her eyes, when Elara managed to catch a glimpse, were wide and vacant, like polished stones. Her skin was pale, almost translucent. She never spoke. Never cried. Never smiled. She simply existed, a silent echo in a soundproof room. Frustration gnawed at Elara. How could a child be so completely withdrawn? Lily, despite her illness, was full of spirit, curiosity, and warmth. Mia was a void. Was this a form of protest? A deep-seated trauma? Or something else entirely? Cassian Thorne had been precise about Mia. Keep her company. Don't press her. But his instructions felt hollow in the face of such profound silence. Lily, in contrast, was thriving. Her therapy sessions were showing small, encouraging improvements. She laughed more, ate better, and her color was returning. The contrast between the two girls, one slowly blooming, the other seemingly petrified, was heartbreaking. Elara spent hours in Mia's room, sometimes just sitting in comfortable silence, hoping her presence alone might offer some comfort. Other times, she tried to engage her, talking about the gardens, about Lily, about anything she could think of. Once, Elara gently touched Mia's hand, a fleeting contact with skin that felt cold and unresponsive. Mia didn't pull away, but neither did she acknowledge the touch. It was as if Elara wasn't even there. Growing increasingly concerned, Elara tried to speak to Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper, but the woman was evasive. "Mia is delicate, Miss Thorne," Mrs. Gable would say, her eyes darting away. "She requires a very specific environment." Specific environment. What did that even mean? Elara began to feel a creeping sense of dread. The opulence of Thorne Estate felt less like a sanctuary and more like a gilded cage, particularly for Mia. Cassian's controlled generosity, his almost clinical approach to everything, began to disturb her. He rarely spoke of Mia. When Elara brought her up, Cassian would simply nod, acknowledge her efforts, and swiftly change the subject to Lily's progress, or business matters. His indifference, or perhaps his calculated distance, only deepened Elara's resolve. She would not give up on Mia. Lily's life depended on it, but more than that, a deep empathy stirred within her for the lost girl. Weeks turned into a month. Elara had established a routine, a rhythm within the mansion's vast halls. Lily's medical team praised Elara's dedication, praising the positive effect she had on her daughter. Late one night, well after Lily was asleep, Elara descended to the kitchen for a glass of water. The mansion was typically silent, save for the hum of distant machinery. Tonight, however, hushed voices drifted from the study, a room usually off-limits. Pausing at the archway, Elara recognized Mrs. Gable's voice, low and urgent. Another voice, deeper, belonging to Mr. Hayes, the estate manager, answered. "...getting worse, Mrs. Gable," Mr. Hayes murmured. "She barely eats. Mr. Thorne will be furious." "He expects miracles, doesn't he?" Mrs. Gable retorted, a rare hint of bitterness in her tone. "But the new nanny… she tries too hard. Mia doesn't respond to pressure." Elara froze, her hand still reaching for the glass. "Mr. Thorne's rules are very clear," Mr. Hayes insisted. "Absolute calm. No sudden changes. The child is fragile, Mrs. Gable. Extremely fragile. He wants her to remain undisturbed." Undisturbed? Elara's heart thudded against her ribs. She was the

Chapter 4: Silent Echoes