Chapter 1 Ashes and Echoes

The rain was merciless that night.

It pelted the rusted rooftops and turned the narrow alleyways of East Durnham into rivers of mud. Thunder cracked like bones breaking in the sky, but it was the scream of a baby-thin, hoarse, and desperate-that truly split the darkness.

She lay in a tattered blanket, barely bigger than a loaf of bread, her skin pale with cold and her fists curled tight as if clinging to life itself. No name. No note. Only a burn mark on her ankle-an accidental branding from the metal bin she was left beside.

The nurse who found her at dawn almost stepped over her.

Almost.

Had it not been for that single, shuddering cry-the one she would later swear "sounded too human to ignore"-Seraphina Vale might have died before the sun rose.

She didn't.

Instead, she lived.

And every second since that moment had been a fight.

Seventeen years later, the same rain returned. But now, Seraphina didn't cry. She stared out the cracked window of her shared room in the orphanage, watching the storm lash against the glass like it was trying to get in and drag her back to the place she came from.

If only it knew-there was nothing left to take.

"You're spacing out again," muttered Lira, her bunkmate, without looking up from her tattered book.

Seraphina didn't answer. Her reflection flickered against the glass-long black hair, sharp cheekbones, tired eyes that looked too old for her age. Eyes that had seen too much. She touched the burn scar on her ankle unconsciously, the reminder of her beginning. The branding of rejection.

"I heard Sister Magda talking about you," Lira continued, voice low. "She said someone's asking questions. About a girl who was found seventeen years ago."

That made Seraphina turn.

"What kind of questions?"

Lira shrugged, clearly enjoying the shift in Seraphina's tone. "The kind that make the staff nervous."

Seraphina's heartbeat quickened. She was used to whispers, but never like this. Her past was a closed door. No one ever came knocking.

Until now.

In the heart of Avarelle Estate, miles away and worlds apart, Celestine Avarelle was dressing for another charity gala. Her golden curls were being pinned into place by the household's finest stylist, while her mother fussed over her jewelry choices. The diamond necklace or the sapphire choker?

"Smile, Celestine," her mother murmured, adjusting the angle of her chin. "Remember, you're the face of the family. The legacy."

Celestine nodded obediently. She always did. Her life was mapped out in detail-schools, parties, friendships, even her future marriage. The Avarelles didn't raise daughters. They bred legacies.

She had never once questioned her place in the world.

Why would she?

She was born into silk and sunlight.

But that night, as she stepped into the waiting car, a flicker of something strange brushed past her thoughts. A face-faint, unfamiliar-hauntingly similar to her own. Eyes that mirrored hers. Lips curved the same way when angry.

A dream?

She blinked it away.

Back in the orphanage, Seraphina snuck into the records room.

Her fingers shook as she opened the rusted cabinet marked "1990s-Foundlings."

She'd searched before. Dozens of times. And yet, something drove her back now.

She found the file. Thin. Too thin.

Name: Unknown.

Date of discovery: November 6.

Condition: Malnourished. Estimated age: 3 days.

Unique identifier: Burn scar on left ankle.

She knew all this.

But this time, there was something new tucked inside-a page she'd never seen before. Folded. Yellowed with age.

A hospital wristband.

And written on it, in faded ink:

"C. A. V."

Her breath caught. Her heart thundered in her ears.

C. A. V.?

She grabbed the page and backed out of the room like a thief. Something heavy and invisible pressed against her chest.

Back in her room, she Googled the initials.

They hit instantly.

Celestine Avarelle.

The face that stared back at her from the search results made her knees weaken.

It was her face.

No-Celestine's.

But it could have been her.

Could have been her.

She stared at the image-flawless skin, a life of wealth wrapped around that smile-and felt something primal rise in her chest. Not envy. Not jealousy.

Rage.

How long had she been walking with someone else's shadow draped across her shoulders?

Who decided she was the one to be thrown away?

And why?

The next morning, she stood at the bus stop, rain still drizzling, her fingers wrapped tight around the hospital band in her coat pocket.

She had nothing-no money, no power, no name anyone cared about.

But she had questions.

And if no one wanted to give her answers... she'd tear them out one by one.

Even if it meant walking into the lion's den.

Even if it meant facing the girl who lived the life meant for her.