Two Crayon Suns Above the Windowless House

By morning, the estate had become a collection of locked doors and quiet decisions. I kept the curtains drawn in the east wing. Staff were told to use the western corridor, though I gave no explanation beyond the need for privacy. Every instruction made the house feel less like a home and more like a place waiting to be searched again.

Allie slept in short intervals. Dr. Leon checked the marks around her wrists and the bruising along her skin without asking her to move more than necessary. Lily stayed on the rug beside the bed, her rabbit pressed to her chest. She ate only when the plate was placed close enough that she did not have to leave her mother.

I set the two drawings on the floor between us.

The first had been folded near the bottom corner. The second showed the same house, but the sun sat higher above the roof. Lily leaned over them. Her fair hair fell across her face as she touched the yellow crayon with one finger.

Then she touched the wall.

I followed her hand back to the staff quarters.

Dr. Leon came with us. Allie remained in the locked room, awake now, watching from the bed as I carried the drawings. Her gaze never left them.

The wall was plain except for the tape and the faint squares where something had once hung. I removed the second drawing carefully. Behind it, the plaster was unmarked. Behind the first, the lower strip of tape had pulled away farther than the rest.

Lily reached toward the corner.

I pressed the plaster. It gave a fraction.

A narrow panel had been fitted into the wall and painted over. The edge was nearly invisible beneath the paper. I worked the pocketknife into the seam and lifted it without forcing the wood. Inside was a flat metal tin wrapped in a piece of faded cloth.

The tin contained a small memory card, an old staff key, and several folded pages.

The key matched the one missing from beside the sink.

The pages were not a confession or a complete record. They were copies of ordinary things: dates, amounts, addresses, and short notes written in a cramped hand. Some names had been crossed out. Allie's name appeared more than once. So did Victor's.

I read only enough to understand that the papers had been hidden deliberately. The rest I folded back into the cloth.

Allie had followed us as far as the doorway. Her face tightened when she saw the tin in my hand. She reached for it, then stopped before her fingers touched the metal.

I held it out.

She shook her head.

That refusal carried more weight than an explanation would have. She wanted the evidence kept away from Lily, but she did not yet trust me to decide what happened next. I put the tin inside my jacket with the receipt and the torn scrap.

Lily pointed at the drawing still in my other hand. Her finger rested on the windowless house.

The hidden compartment had been built behind the picture, not despite it. Someone had used a child's repeated image as a cover because no one would think to question it.

In the east-wing room, I placed the rabbit beside Lily when she returned to the rug. She looked toward the closed door and then at my jacket.

The evidence could go to the authorities. That would create a record and bring strangers to the estate. Keeping it hidden might protect Allie for another night, but it would leave Victor outside the law and leave us guessing about his next move.