Juliana's POV
I was four years old again, tiny and terrified in a damp basement that smelled of mold and urine. The concrete floor chilled my bare feet as I huddled against the wall with five other children. None of us spoke. We'd learned that crying brought punishment.
"Get up, you little brats!" A man with yellowed teeth kicked at us. "New merchandise coming in. Make room."
My stomach twisted with hunger. I hadn't eaten since Ivy handed me over to these people two days ago.
"This one's too skinny," the man had complained when Ivy brought me. "Barely worth five hundred."
Ivy's eyes had been cold, emotionless. "Take her or leave her. I need the cash."
That's all I was worth to my mother. Five hundred dollars.
The basement door creaked open, and a boy was shoved down the stairs. He fell hard, his knees hitting the concrete. Unlike the rest of us, he didn't cry. He stood up, dusted himself off, and scanned the room with sharp eyes. He looked older—maybe ten or eleven.
