Chapter 4

The wine cellar door was ajar.

No lights inside. Only a small window near the ceiling let in a thin, dim line of light.

I stood at the door and didn't go in right away.

Isabella messaged again: "The evidence is in the old computer in the back. You're not afraid to go in, are you? Don't you want to prove yourself?"

I gripped my phone and slowly walked inside.

Props and paint buckets from the school play were piled in the corner.

The old computer sat on a wooden table. The screen was on. There was only one audio file.

The moment I touched the mouse, a click came from behind me.

The door locked.

I ran to the door and pounded on it. No response.

The smell of paint in the cellar was heavy.

The darker it got, the clearer the memory from thirteen years ago became.

Five-year-old me curled beside broken wooden crates, crying over and over that I was hungry.

Outside, Marta kicked the door impatiently.

"Shut up! Cry again and you'll never come out!"

I began to gasp for air.

At the same time, my father, mother, and brother arrived at the academy.

As the three of them headed to my classroom, Isabella walked over from the auditorium carrying a stack of notebooks.

When she saw them, she stopped short. Her face showed just the right amount of surprise.

"Dad, Mom, Marco, what are you doing here?"

My mother held up her phone. "Your sister asked us to come."

"She said she wasn't adjusting well and had something to tell us in person."

Isabella froze for a few seconds. Then, as if remembering something, her face slowly went pale.

"There's something I don't know if I should tell you."

She led the three of them into the reception room. After hesitating for a long time, she took out a recording.

"I found this today when I was helping sister get her tablet."

"I wanted to ask her about it when she came back. I didn't expect her to call you to the academy first."

In the recording, a young girl's voice said clearly:

"After I lock myself in the wine cellar, I'll pretend my old illness acted up and message them."

"As long as they come to save me, they'll believe my adoptive parents abused me."

"Then nothing Isabella says will matter."

My mother's face went pale. "Is that Sophia's voice?"

"I don't know."

Isabella bit her lip. "I just found it on sister's tablet."

"I hope it isn't her. But someone at the academy said they heard sister speak in private."

Marco sneered. "No wonder she insisted on coming to the academy with us today. She even picked the wine cellar in advance."

Just then, my mother's phone buzzed.

I sent a message:

"I'm locked in the wine cellar behind the auditorium. Come save me!"

She stood up abruptly. "Whether it's real or not, we need to check!"

But Isabella grabbed her. "Mom, if you go now, won't you be falling right into the plan in the recording?"

"Sister knows you love her, so she keeps testing your limits."

My father frowned deeply, but still started a video call with me.

I answered.

The screen was dark. Only my pale face and trembling hands were visible.

I signed to them:

【The door is locked from the outside.】

【There's a strong paint smell. It's hard to breathe.】

【Please, come quick!】

Marco stared at the screen, face dark. "Sophia Moretti, we've heard the recording."

"You went to all this trouble to lock yourself in. Aren't you just waiting to see if we'll save you?"

"Say the location of the wine cellar right now, and I'll go immediately."

"If you keep using those movements no one understands to lie, then stay in there and reflect!"

I shook my head desperately. My fingers were shaking too hard to form complete signs.

【I'm not lying.】

【The door is really locked.】

【Mom, I'm scared.】

Marco looked away impatiently.

My mother's eyes reddened. She reached for the phone several times, but the recording pinned her in place.

"Sophia, just say one sentence."

"Even one word, and Mom will come get you right now!"

I opened my mouth. I used all my strength. But only broken gasps came out.

Outside the screen, the meeting room door was suddenly pushed open.

A woman in her forties walked in.

"Mrs. Moretti, I'm the sign language teacher you hired. My name is Elena."

"Sorry I'm late. Traffic."

"You said in your message that Sophia had communication trouble at the academy, so I came straight here."

She saw me on the video and stopped short.

The next second, she snatched the phone and stared at my signs and the background behind me.

"Where is this child?"

Isabella's face shifted. "She's just throwing a tantrum with the family."

Elena looked up sharply, more serious than ever.

"She's using fluent natural sign language."

"She says the door is locked from the outside. There's an irritant in the wine cellar. She's already having trouble breathing."

"Her last sentence wasn't a tantrum!"

Elena turned the screen toward them.

On the video, I had slid down the wall to the floor. My fingers were still repeating the same movement unconsciously.

"She's calling for her mom!"