The rain had stopped just minutes earlier, leaving the city sidewalks slick and glowing beneath the evening streetlights. Outside the Grand Aurelia Hotel—where crystal chandeliers shimmered behind tall glass doors—a little girl sat quietly on the cold stone steps, hugging her knees to her chest.
She couldn’t have been more than nine.
Her sweater was too large, the cuffs frayed. Her shoes were worn thin at the soles. Beside her rested a small canvas bag—everything she owned in the world. Inside were a half-empty bottle of water and a folded photograph she guarded like treasure.
Her name was Lily.
To most people, she was invisible.
