^^6 YEARS LATER^^

A fist pounded on the apartment door, rattling the peeling frame and sending dust flaking from the top corner.

“Little Sparrow! Open up! The sun’s been up an hour!” Sofia Vale’s voice cut through the morning haze—sharp, bright, and impossible to ignore.

Before Alessandra Rossi could groan, the small, warm body beside her was already moving. Rosebud, six years old and far too perceptive for anyone’s comfort, slipped out of bed and padded barefoot to the door.

The door clicked open with a soft snick. Sofia swept in, wrapped in a towel, her auburn hair piled high and damp, skin still dewy from the building’s shared shower room. She carried the scent of bergamot soap and unstoppable momentum.

She shot a theatrical frown at Alessandra, who was slowly sitting up on the mattress, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “You sound like a haunted hinge in there,” Sofia declared.

“Move it, Rossi! The water taxi to the Financial District won’t wait, and if you’re late for that interview at Volkov Consolidated, I swear I will drag you there in pajamas.”

“I’m moving,” Alessandra mumbled, forcing a tired smile. “Just mentally preparing myself to face a corporate machine with a thirst for soul fragments and quarterly profit reports.”

“Save the dark comedy for after you land the job that gets us out of this glorified closet,” Sofia replied, already turning her attention to Rosebud, who waited patiently near the bathroom door, blinking up at her with solemn grace. “C’mon, Sprout. Teeth. Face. Operation Employ Mama is a go.”

“Mrs. Finch at the Nest School says precise language matters,” Rosebud said, tone matter-of-fact. “‘Brush teeth’ is sufficient. ‘Brush teeth face’ is an illogical sequence.”

Sofia paused mid-step, then gave an exaggerated bow. “My apologies, Miss Rosebud Rossi. Correction acknowledged. Teeth. Brushing. Commence.”

Alessandra, groaning, pulled herself up and headed for the wardrobe. In the faded light filtering through the cracked blinds, she searched through the same three hangers she always did.

She reached for her only passable outfit: a charcoal blazer and skirt, slightly too large and still smelling faintly of lavender starch from the night before. A thrift-store find, salvaged from a clearance rack near the old Crimson Docks.

Her fingers lingered on the fabric. She hadn’t said it out loud, but the job mattered. Volkov Consolidated. It wasn’t just a paycheck. It was the kind of position that meant stability—health insurance, steady hours, something resembling a future. It was proof she could start over, that she could be more than what had been done to her.

She didn’t let herself think beyond that. Hope was dangerous when you gave it too many details. From the bathroom, Sofia’s voice drifted low and warm.

“Your mom’s a phoenix, kiddo. Remember the ashes.” Alessandra froze for half a heartbeat, the words sinking deep. Then she pulled on the blazer and closed the buttons with steady hands. Twenty minutes later, Rosebud sat at the rickety oak table, tracing Cyrillic characters in a workbook Sofia had rescued from a curbside box labeled FREE OR FIREWOOD.

Alessandra crouched beside her and smoothed a hand over her daughter’s soft hair. “Little blossom, breakfast before I go?”

“Mother, please use my full designation, Rosebud Rossi, during academic time blocks,” she replied without looking up. “You have a water taxi to catch. Prioritize.”

Alessandra blinked, then gave a long-suffering sigh. “Six going on sixty."

Sofia leaned against the kitchenette counter, drinking straight from the moka pot. “If you told me this one sprang fully formed from your forehead like an ancient Roman goddess, I’d believe it.”

“You taught her chess theory before she could tie her shoes. This is your fault,” Alessandra said, slipping on her scuffed heels.

“I was planning to raise a normal, chaos-friendly child. You gave me a tiny philosopher.”

“Better a philosopher than a TikTok drone,” Sofia replied. She handed Alessandra her satchel and gave her a once-over. “You actually look… intimidating. In a s*xy, lost-in-the-mailroom way.”

“Comforting,” Alessandra muttered.

Her hand hovered near the doorknob. Her stomach twisted.

“Hey,” Sofia said quietly, stepping forward. “You’ve got this. You survived things most people couldn’t pronounce. This? Is just an office. A job.”

“I know,” Alessandra answered softly. “It’s just…a lot.”

“I know,” Sofia repeated, gentler this time. “But you’re ready.”

Alessandra swallowed hard.

“Tell her not to wait up.” Sofia nodded and gently nudged her toward the door.

The moment it clicked shut, Sofia turned back to Rosebud, who was still scribbling diligently in her workbook. The little girl paused, lifted her head, and blinked at her aunt. “My mummy is the best,” she said with absolute conviction. “She’ll get the job.”

Sofia didn’t speak for a moment, her throat thick. She crossed the room and kissed the top of Rosebud’s head. “Yeah, Sprout,” she whispered. “She will.”