Page 51 of The Shape of my Scar (The Unbroken #1)

Epilogue - The Girl in the Pink Room

T he house was too large.

Faolan stepped into the marbled entryway, the quiet echo of her boots giving away her hesitation. Crystal chandeliers shone from the ceiling of the foyer, and original oil paintings lined the walls—clean white walls that were a direct contrast to the violent men this mansion housed.

Dimitri met her in the hallway, dressed in black, as always. The only colour came from the ring on his finger—the crest of a man who had taken the throne with blood and fire.

The search for Anatoly had been brief, abandoned easily once his crimes came to light.

The throne passed hands without ceremony, but not without casualties. Rumours of dissent had surfaced, fleetingly. Then, they disappeared, just like the men behind them.

But power had not given Dimitri peace.

“She hasn’t spoken since her mother died,” he said quietly as he led Faolan up the wide staircase. “A year now. She was ten then; she’ll be eleven soon. She refuses school, ballet, food. I’ve tried everything.”

They stopped outside a door painted blush pink, the brass handle gleaming. Dimitri hesitated.

“I owe you another blood debt for this.”

Faolan didn’t answer. She simply nodded once.

Inside, the room was soft and draped in expensive comfort. A little girl sat at a round table near the window, staring out at the garden as a young woman beside her read aloud in Russian. The child didn’t move.

Blonde hair in a neat French braid. Loose blue dress. Pale arms. She was thinner than she should’ve been.

Pretty and fragile, Faolan thought. Like a butterfly caught in a net

Dimitri murmured something in Russian, and the young woman gave a respectful nod before quietly leaving.

Faolan crossed the room and sat down opposite the girl.

She waited.

Then, gently “Hi. My name is Faolan. But my friends call me Fee.”

No response.

“Your papa’s worried about you. He thought it might help if we talked a little.”

The girl turned her head slightly, gaze still far beyond the glass.

“You see... when I was your age,” Faolan began softly, “some bad men took me. They locked me in a dark place. They hurt me again and again.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Faolan sensed the smallest flicker. But she was still not looking at her.

“The one who hurt me the most was a man named Tolya.”

That time, there was no mistaking it. The girl flinched.

“But I didn’t let him win. Not even when I felt I’d rather die. Because if I died, he got away with it. Right?”

She wasn’t sure if this was right, if these words were for a child. But Nadia wasn’t a child in the way children should be.

“I didn’t talk for a long time, either,” Faolan said. “I couldn’t eat. I thought I was broken. I was ashamed.”

She reached for honesty.

“But it wasn’t my fault. And it’s not yours, either. Slowly, I got better. I became a police officer. I help stop bad men from hurting girls like us.”

A long silence.

Then a soft voice, rusty from disuse. “Are you sure he’s gone?”

Faolan startled and looked into the softest dove-grey eyes she’d ever seen.

“Yes, Nadia,” she said gently. “He’s gone. He will never come back. And your papa will protect you. Always.”

A single tear slid down Nadia’s cheek. She looked down, silent again.

Faolan leaned forward slightly. “He probably told you he loved watching you do ballet, didn’t he? The evil man?”

A small, barely-there nod.

“So you stopped. Because you didn’t want to give him that.”

Another nod. This time, sharper, angrier.

“Well,” Faolan said softly, “he’s gone now. Don’t let him take anything else from you. Don’t give up what you love.”

The silence between them was considering, thoughtful.

Faolan reached into her bag and pulled out a small packet. She placed it on the table with a smile. “Your dad said you used to like Jaffa Cakes.”

She opened the packet, took one, and bit in with a small hum of satisfaction. “Still good.”

She pushed the packet toward Nadia.

The girl eyed it. Then, tentatively, she took one and bit into it.

The corner of her mouth twitched upward.

They sat together in quiet companionship, eating soft cake and orange jelly as the sky outside turned lavender.

When the last crumbs were gone, Faolan stood. “I have to go now.”

Her hand was on the door handle when a small voice behind her said, “Can you… Will you come again?”

Faolan turned. “Yes,” she said simply. “I will.”

And she meant it.