In a steel chair in the corner, under the eye of two guards, sat thirty-eight-year-old Vivian Ashcroft. Her designer dress was torn, her hair disheveled, and her eyes were wide with the horror of someone who had just watched a four-year plan collide with a wall.

PART 3: The Message on the Staircase

That night in the tower still lay three years ahead.

To understand how we got there, I have to return to the staircase, to my repaired shoes, and to the moment Pearl answered my greeting.

The first thing Pearl signed to me was not hello.

HELP.

Then she made another movement, slower this time, as though she was testing whether I truly understood.

DON’T TELL HER.

I glanced at Vivian.

The older woman had already started toward the staircase, her heels striking the marble like an approaching clock.

Pearl’s hands vanished behind the rabbit. “What a lovely little trick,” Vivian said.

“She copies gestures from videos sometimes. We have been warned not to encourage her fantasies.”

I kept my face neutral. “Does she know sign language?”

“Absolutely not,” Vivian answered. Desmond gave a slight shake of his head.

“Rosalind taught her a few signs when she was small.