Naomi's POV

The new girl in the west wing didn't speak.

She didn't run.

She didn't knock.

She just appeared-like she was always supposed to be here, and she acted like she was being controlled.

Security hadn't seen her enter, she just appeared like a ghost from nowhere.

None of the staff had let her through.

She stood barefoot on the marble, curls identical to Miranda's, wearing a pale gray dress that clung to her thin frame like it had been sewn on.

My goodness, the sight wasn't anything I ...