Adam was about to head back outside when a soft sound stopped him. It was faint at first, muffled sob, almost hidden beneath the hum of the evening air. He froze, turning slowly toward the mansion. The sound came again, clearer this time, fragile and trembling.
He followed it through the quiet hallway that led to the kitchen. The lights were dim, most of the staff already gone, and the space smelled faintly of baked bread and milk. Then he saw her.
Carla sat curled up in the corner, her knees drawn to her chest, her little shoulders shaking as she wiped at her tears with trembling hands. Her pink dress was wrinkled, her curls sticking to her damp cheeks.
"Carla," Adam said softly, his voice breaking the silence.
The little girl gasped and looked up. Her eyes were red from crying. "Daddy," she whispered, her voice small and frightened.
