The sound came from deep inside the building—somewhere customers clearly weren’t meant to go.
For the first time in years, something stirred in him that money couldn’t explain.
“Let’s find out,” he said quietly.
As they walked down the narrow hallway, the boutique slowly changed.
The warm lighting disappeared.
Flickering fluorescent bulbs replaced it.
Soft carpet turned into cracked concrete.
The scent of perfume faded into damp air and dust.
At the end of the hallway stood a wooden door.
It was slightly open.
Locked from the outside.
Daniel’s chest tightened.
He pushed the door open.
A wave of heat rushed out.
Inside, under a single dim bulb, a small girl hunched over a sewing machine.
Sweat dripped from her face onto delicate white fabric covered with tiny stars.
She wasn’t playing.
She was working.
Daniel accidentally knocked over a box.
The girl jumped so hard the sewing needle pierced her finger.
A drop of blood fell onto the dress.
She spun around in panic, hiding the fabric behind her back.
“I’m sorry! I’m almost done, Aunt Patricia! Please—I promise!”
Daniel felt his blood run cold.
“I’m not your aunt,” he said gently.
“I’m just a customer.”
The girl stared at him in shock.
Then at Chloe.