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PROLOGUE
VALERIA
12 YEARS OLD
Iwrap my sweater tighter around my shoulders asIwander in the crisp autumn air.Mybreath comes out in small puffs, visible in the cold, the leaves crunching beneath my feet.
Theorphanage, which also serves as my school, looms behind me, casting long shadows over the garden.Thebuilding is ancient, maybe centuries old.Myheart beats a little faster asIglance back at the towering spires that seem to pierce the gray sky.
Iwalk down the path to the secluded area whereIgo to quiet my thoughts.
Thewalls are cold and rough under my fingertips, sending a chill through my hand asItrail them along the stone.Thecreeping ivy, now a deep red with the season, scratches against my palm.Narrow, arched windows line the sides, their glass panes cloudy and cracked.Atightness forms in my chest, andIremind myself to breathe.
Thisplace has been my home for as long asIcan remember.
Ilost my parents in a home invasion whenIwas just a toddler.Idon’t remember much, just vague images that don’t quite fit together.FromwhatIwas told, no family members came forward to take me in.Evennow, it’s hard to make sense of it, knowing that no one came for me—no parent, no relative.Itmakes me feel as ifIwas forgotten, likeIdidn’t matter enough to anyone.
That’swhyIlove going to the hidden part of the forest.It’smy escape, a place whereIcan be with myself, away from the other children and the noise of the orphanage.
Outthere,Idon’t have to pretend or worry about being forgotten again.Thetrees don’t judge, and the quiet feels like a comforting embrace.It’sthe only place whereIfeel a sense of peace, whereIcan breathe without the weight of everything pressing down on me.
Icontinue down the path untilIsee the opening to my favorite spot.
Thewind rustles in my hair, causing strands to temporarily blind me.Ibrush them from my face asIcross the tight entryway of branches.WhenIopen my eyes,Isee her.
Camila.Thenew girl.
She’sdifferent from the other kids—quiet, withdrawn, carrying an air of deep sadness and trauma that most of us understand.
Mybest friend,Isabel, took it upon herself to be the girl’s companion.Sheappointed herself the unofficial orphanage tour guide, chattering endlessly in her ear as she showed her around.Isabelwas determined to break through her shell, to make her smile.
Atfirst, the girl remained distant, barely acknowledging her presence, butIsabelpersisted, undeterred by her calm demeanor.Shefound ways to involve her in games andactivities, always by her side, offering a stream of conversation even if the girl never responded.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly,Camilabegan to thaw.Shestarted to followIsabel, observing her antics with a faint hint of amusement in her eyes.Thoughshe never uttered a word, her silent presence spoke volumes.
Theonly thing that seemed to catch her attention were butterflies.
Imove quietly through the dense overgrowth.AsIget closer,Ican see her more clearly, sitting cross-legged on the lush green grass.She’shumming softly to herself, the sound almost hypnotic.Ipause for a moment, my breath catching in my throat.There’ssomething aboutCamilathat feels...different.Thenagain, it always has.
Istep forward, slower this time, careful not to break the spell.Myfingers brush against the rough bark of a tree asIsteady myself.Shestill hasn’t noticed me, andIwonder if she can feel my presence, if the hairs on the back of her neck are standing up like mine.
Surroundingher are fluttering butterflies of various colors, dancing around her like confetti caught in a breeze.Shewatches the delicate creatures with an intensity that borders on admiration.
Intriguedby this enchanting sight,Iapproach quietly, careful not to startle her or the butterflies.
Icatch snippets of soft, whispered words seemingly meant for the butterflies alone.Igasp under my breath; it’s the first timeI’veheard any sound come out of her mouth.
I’mmesmerized by the scene before me.Butterflies, usually so elusive and fleeting, found a companion inCamila.Theyflit around her, landing briefly on her outstretched fingers or in her hair, as if responding to her unspoken commands.It’sas though she possesses a secret language only they understand.
Curiositygetting the better of me,Istep closer, close enough to see the strands of her blonde hair catching in the light, close enough to notice the way her shoulders rise and fall with each breath.
Atwig snaps under my foot, and she tenses, her humming cutting off abruptly.Herhead turns slightly, just enough for me to see the edge of her profile, andIfreeze, waiting for her next move.
Myheart pounds in my chest, andIswallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry.Theforest seems to hold its breath along with me, the sounds of life fading into the background.Itake one last step, then another, untilI’mstanding right behindCamila.Ican see the way her hands curl into fists, her knuckles white, but she doesn’t turn around.
“Hi.”
Shedoesn’t respond.
