Isabella never remembered the sound of laughter without hearing the crackle of fire behind it.
Her tenth birthday had begun like a dream. The dining room smelled of vanilla cake and melting candle wax. Her parents beamed at her from across the table, their faces glowing in the light of ten tiny flames. Friends crowded around, paper hats askew, giggling as they waited for her to make a wish.
She didn't remember what she wished for. She only remembered the smoke.
It started as a faint sting in her nose, easily ignored over the chatter and music. Then came Miss Edith's hand, firm on her shoulder.
"Come with me, Isabella," she said. Her voice was calm—too calm.
Isabella looked toward her parents, but they only nodded. There was no time to question why her father's eyes looked wet, or why her mother's smile trembled. Edith's grip tightened, guiding her through the kitchen and toward the back door. The air was thicker now, heat licking at her cheeks.
And then—chaos. Shouts. The brittle snap of wood. A wall of heat as flames roared to life behind them.
By the time Edith dragged her outside, the house was already an inferno. Isabella screamed for her parents, but Edith held her tight, whispering something over and over that Isabella couldn't hear above the roaring blaze.
They never came out.
From that day forward, Edith became more than a nanny. She was Isabella's shield, her teacher, and—perhaps most importantly—her only witness to a night the world had neatly filed away as "tragic accident."
Fourteen years later, Isabella's fingers traced the crest stitched onto her jacket: the mark of the Elite Nanny Academy. She had worn it through grueling training—combat drills at dawn, etiquette lessons by candlelight, the art of blending into the background while watching everything.
Today, she was no longer a student.
Her first assignment had arrived in an unmarked envelope, sealed in black wax. Inside was a single name, a location, and a warning:
"Protect the child. Trust no one."
For the first time in years, Isabella felt that same electric tingle she'd felt the night of the fire—a signal, deep in her bones, that danger was coming.
And this time, she wouldn't be the one running.