The children did not speak for three weeks.
Elliot watched them from the doorway of the medical wing, their small bodies curled on cots, their eyes fixed on the ceiling. Sixty-three children, aged eight to sixteen. They ate when food was placed in front of them. They slept when the lights dimmed. But they did not speak.
Charlotte had run every test. Neural scans. Blood work. Psychological evaluations. "The conditioning is deep," she said. "Whoever trained them didn't just teach them to fight. They suppressed everything—emotion, memory, identity. The children don't know who they are because they were never allowed to find out."
"Can we reverse it?" Elliot asked.
"Slowly. With time. With patience. With love."
Emma had taken it upon herself to help. The twelve-year-old girl who had once
