Three weeks after the Marco incident, Hope stopped talking.
Not completely. She still said necessary things. "Yes." "No." "I am fine." But the spark was gone. The light in her eyes had dimmed to almost nothing.
She went to school. Did her work. Came home. Did homework. Went to bed. Mechanical. Automatic. Empty.
I watched her disappear into herself and felt helpless. The kind of helplessness that sits in your chest like a stone, cold and heavy, making it hard to breathe. I had fought governments. Had survived Marcus. Had defeated the Consortium. But I could not fix my daughter's loneliness. Could not make other children understand her. Could not give her what she needed most.
Belonging.
Damien tried too. He built her things. A desk for her room. A bookshelf carved with flowers. A music
