Curly woke with a sharp inhale, her heart pounding as if she had been running.
For a moment, she didn't know where she was.
Then the familiar ceiling of the slave house came into focus, the dim lantern light casting long shadows across the room. The quiet breathing of the other girls grounded her, but the unease in her chest refused to fade.
She sat up slowly.
Ever since the night Lady Anna had looked at her like that—like she was a mistake that shouldn't exist—sleep had become a stranger.
"Bad dream?" Angela's sleepy voice came from the next bed.
Curly hesitated, then nodded. "Something like that."
Angela rolled onto her side, propping her head up. "You'll get used to it. This place does that to people."
That wasn't comforting at all.
---
★
Breakfast passed in uneasy silence.
The hall buzzed with whispers—guards talking in low tones, servants moving faster than usual. Curly felt eyes on her more than once, though whenever she looked up, no one was openly staring.
Except Sony.
She sat across the hall, her dark eyes lingering on Curly longer than necessary before she looked away again. Curly frowned. There was something guarded about her—like she knew things she wasn't saying.
Why does she look at me like that?
"Eat," Micka whispered, nudging Curly's elbow. "You'll need strength today."
"For what?" Curly asked.
Micka grimaced. "Inspection."
Curly's stomach dropped.
---
★
The inspection was worse than Curly imagined.
They were lined up in the courtyard, the sun unforgiving overhead. Lady Anna stood before them, hands clasped behind her back, her sharp gaze sweeping over each girl like merchandise.
Zara stood beside her, rigid.
"Slaves are not here to be noticed," Lady Anna said coolly. "They exist to serve."
Her eyes stopped on Curly.
Again.
"Step forward."
Curly's legs felt heavy, but she obeyed.
Lady Anna circled her slowly, studying her profile, her posture, the way her chin lifted even when she tried to shrink.
"You walk like someone who hasn't learned fear yet," Lady Anna said softly.
Curly swallowed. "I… I try my best, ma'am."
A faint smile touched Lady Anna's lips—but it wasn't kind. "We'll fix that."
Storm's voice suddenly cut in from behind. "Mother."
Curly nearly jumped.
Storm stood at the edge of the courtyard, his presence commanding even without a word raised. His gaze flicked briefly to Curly, then back to Lady Anna.
"The staff is needed in the east wing," he said evenly. "Immediately."
Lady Anna held his stare for a long moment.
Then she turned away. "Dismissed."
Relief crashed through Curly so hard her knees nearly gave out.
As the girls dispersed, she dared a glance back.
Storm was still watching her.
Not with coldness.
With questions.
---
★
Danger watched the courtyard from the upper corridor, unseen.
He had arrived too late to stop the inspection—but not too late to see the way Lady Anna looked at Curly.
The same look she used to get whenever the past clawed its way into the present.
"Why her?" he muttered.
Storm joined him quietly. "You noticed it too."
Danger scoffed. "Hard not to."
Storm's eyes narrowed. "Mother doesn't fixate without reason."
Danger leaned against the railing. "Then what's the reason?"
Storm shrugged "who knows"?
---
★
That afternoon, Curly was sent to the archives wing—an area Zara warned them never to linger in.
"Clean only what you're told," Zara said sharply. "Nothing else."
Curly nodded.
The room smelled of dust and old paper. Shelves stretched endlessly, filled with files, records, and locked cabinets.
As she wiped down a desk, a folder slipped loose, falling to the floor.
She froze.
Slowly, she bent and picked it up.
A name on the tab made her breath hitch.
It wasn't hers.
But it felt… familiar.
Before she could open it, footsteps echoed.
"Curly."
She turned sharply to see Michael standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable.
"You're not supposed to touch anything here," he said quietly.
"I didn't—I mean, it fell—"
He glanced at the folder in her hand, his face tightening for just a second.
"Put it back," he said.
She obeyed, though her hands trembled.
Michael stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You need to be careful. Some things in this empire are buried for a reason."
Curly looked up at him. "Why does Lady Anna hate me?"
The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Michael stilled.
"Hate is a strong word," he said finally. "Let's just say… you remind her of something she lost."
"Or something she fears," Curly whispered.
Michael didn't deny it.
---
★
That night, Curly lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
A fallen folder. Lady Anna's stare. Storm's questions. Danger's silence.
None of it made sense.
But one thing was clear now.
She wasn't just a slave.
She was a shadow from the past—and WAN Empire hadn't noticed her by accident.