The city where Estella and the child arrived was called Shameron—the “second capital,” as people liked to say.

The moment they stepped out of the station, a grand square paved in flawless tiles came into view, dominated by a towering red-brick clock tower that loomed proudly over the city.

It was a beautiful place. But to Estella, there could be no place worse.

‘Big cities like this are troublesome.’

Everything here was expensive, and now she had to start over in a place like this. Just the thought of it made her head ache.

“Haa…”

Letting out a quiet sigh, Estella turned back and led the child once more into the station, heading for a quiet corner where few people passed.

“Are you hungry?”

The girl shook her head.

“You should answer with words.”

“…No.”

“Good.”

After that brief exchange, Estella took an envelope, one of several she had divided the money into and slipped it into the child’s small bag.

Then she set the child’s trunk beside her and crouched down to meet her eyes.

“Listen to me carefully.”

Her voice was calm, deliberate.

“When you see an elderly couple—nicely dressed, with kind faces—you go to them right away. Don’t hesitate.”

The child looked up, puzzled, but Estella didn’t soften her tone. She continued speaking, her words cold and firm.

“Basically, only people with money would be able to come to this station, so finding someone who looks wealthy won’t be hard.”

“…”

“Find an elderly couple who look kind and rich, grab onto them, and cry that you’re looking for your father. Understand?”

The girl pursed her lips for a long moment before asking.

“…Why?”

“You look every inch a noble child right now.”

Estella had taken off the black dress and dressed her in the most expensive-looking clothes she owned for that very reason.

“People won’t suspect you’re an orphan, and they’ll take you in.”

The girl blinked.

“And you?”

“I’ll be leaving.”

“You’re… not staying with me?”

“No. If we stay together, no one will take you.”

Street children rarely drew anyone’s pity, but a child dressed like a noble was different. With luck, a noble family might offer temporary guardianship; with less luck, the patrol would find her and she’d be sent to a public institution.

“…”

The child’s face darkened at that, and Estella spoke sternly.

“Don’t make that face. You’re not an abandoned child, you’re a child who’s lost her parents.”

“But—”

“If anyone asks what the money is for, say it’s for your travel expenses. That will make them more certain you come from a respectable house. Got it?”

She gave a few more instructions: don’t speak of your father’s death; say you were here on a family trip; avoid women with heavy makeup and revealing clothing, and so on. Truthfully, she doubted the child would remember all of it, but some last thread of conscience made Estella list the warnings anyway.

“If you do exactly as I said, you could be taken in as the adopted daughter of a very good family. That will be better for you than following me.”

With that repeated like an excuse, Estella turned away. She snatched up the travel trunk so the child wouldn’t grab at her skirts, but the little girl stood rooted to the spot, quietly watching Estella walk off.

Her scalp prickled and a lump lodged in her throat, but she kept her eyes forward.

‘This is the right thing to do.’

A woman with a child couldn’t even find work as a maid. And a child who had a mother wasn’t seen as pitiful enough to help.

“So this is what’s best for both of us.”

She muttered to herself—half excuse, half resignation—as she walked out of the station. She strode across the plaza toward the great clock tower, her pace quick and uneven. That was when a heavy droplet struck her forehead.

Plop. Plop.

“…Ha.”

How thoughtful of misfortune, to crown the moment with rain.

“Nothing ever goes right, does it…”

Letting out a long sigh, Estella broke into a run, seeking shelter beneath the nearest tree. The station was actually closer, but she couldn’t risk the child seeing her return and running out after her.

If that happened, she might…

Estella shook her head briskly.

“Eight years old is old enough to survive on her own.”

After all, Estella—no, Stella—had been an orphan from birth. Surely there had been a woman who bore her and a man who sired her, but by the time her memories began, there was no one.

Her earliest recollection was rummaging through a trash bin and getting clawed by a stray cat. At five years old, Stella had clawed her way through life alone.

“She’s luckier than I ever was. She’s got fine clothes—and even money for bread.”

“Luxurious. Absolutely luxurious.”

As if trying to convince someone—perhaps herself—she repeated it a few more times, then opened her trunk to take out a coat against the rain.

But the first thing she saw wasn’t her coat. It was a string of pearls.

“This is…”

It was the expensive necklace she’d secretly taken from the mansion, the last act of conscience she’d shown by slipping it into the child’s bag.

“Why is this here…?”

Suddenly, the memory came rushing back, eight hours earlier, right after boarding the train, when she’d dozed off without even stowing their luggage.

Clatter—

“Hh—!”

The sound of something being lifted.

And the faint, stifled breath of a child.

She had thought of opening her eyes, but after everything that had happened—from the funeral yesterday to their arrival in Shameron today, she was simply too exhausted.

She ignored the risks: the child rummaging through the suitcase and making a mess, or someone from the first-class cabin disapproving of her disorganized luggage. She ignored it all and fell asleep.

“That time…”

It must have been then that the girl had taken the pearl necklace and earrings from her own trunk and placed them in Estella’s bag.

Estella’s thin fingers pulled out the ivory-colored pearls.

“Why…?”

Why did she put this in my bag?

She had tucked the pearls into the child’s luggage to make her look like a noble’s daughter—or, to be more honest, to ease the guilt of abandoning an eight-year-old on her own.

But now, here it was, back in her own bag.

Estella bit down hard on her lip and closed her eyes.

“Troublesome….”

Clenching her jaw, she slammed the trunk shut, the necklace still tight in her grasp.

The few scattered raindrops had turned into a downpour, muddying the hem of her skirt.

Staring at the dirt-streaked fabric, she muttered.

“Everything’s so d*mn troublesome.”

The child.
The situation.
And this wretched scrap of conscience she couldn’t seem to shake off.

“Haa…”

Finally, she gathered her things and ran out into the rain.

Shaa—

Whether it was the rain blurring her vision or her own emotions clouding it, everything ahead—her future, her purpose—had become indistinct.

Yet through it all, she could still feel the smooth, cold beads of the pearl necklace pressing against her palm.

Unwilling to let go of that uneasy sensation, Estella burst into the waiting hall, breath ragged.

“Haa… haa…”

She wiped her drenched face with the same hand that still clutched the necklace.

“Ayla.”

She walked—almost ran—back toward where she’d left the child. Rainwater still streamed from her soaked hair.

“Ayla?”

The droplets running down her cheeks were probably just rain. At least, that’s what she told herself as she called out once more.

“Ayla!”

There was no reply.

Where she had left Ayla, there was nothing — no sign of the girl, not even a shadow.

Panic seized Estella as she rushed through the station, stopping strangers and asking if anyone had seen Ayla.

“Have you seen a little girl? She was carrying a rabbit doll—about this tall—”
“Haven’t seen her.”
“A girl, around eight years old, you didn’t see her?”
“A girl? Hmm, can’t say I did.”

How long had she been running like that?

“Please—have you seen a girl alone anywhere?”

At last, an elderly woman narrowed her eyes, trying to recall.

“A girl, you say… I think I saw one earlier, over that way.”

“Where? Which way?”

“There, by the west gate.”

The direction she pointed was the complete opposite of the one leading to the plaza, the farthest possible point from where Estella had gone.

As if she had deliberately chosen the place most distant from her.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Bowing quickly, Estella sprinted toward the west gate.

When she was nearly there, she spotted a small figure huddled in a dim corner, arms wrapped around her knees.

The moment she recognized that familiar shape, blood rushed back into Estella’s cold fingers.

“Ayla…”

Just saying the name filled her chest with crushing relief, as if her heart had dropped to the ground and bounced back into place.

She called again, loud enough for her voice to echo through the station.

“Ayla!”

The girl flinched and lifted her head. Her eyes widened as they met Estella’s.

“Ah…”

‘Auntie?’

She opened her mouth to speak, but then pressed her lips together and turned her head away sharply.

“…”

Her chin trembled from holding back tears, her round cheeks quivering in protest.

Estella ran to her and crouched down so they were face-to-face.

“Why are you here?”

“…”

The girl didn’t answer. She turned her head away, refusing to meet Estella’s eyes. But the more Estella spoke, the more Ayla’s eyes filled with tears, shimmering, ready to spill.

A sharp ache pricked at Estella’s chest, as if a needle had been driven straight through her heart.

“Ayla.”

Sighing, Estella whispered her name, and before she realized it, she had pulled the child into her arms.

“I’m sorry.”