Insufficient

The air in the private jet was thick with unspoken threats, a familiar tension that clung to Juliana like a second skin. Her eldest brother, Jameson, stood before her, a looming shadow of control and cruelty. "This is not a vacation, Juliana. You are being sent to our relatives to shape up. We're all done with you." His words, laced with venom, were a dull throb in her ears, though the sting of his hand against her already bruised cheek was anything but dull.

"Yes, sir," she whispered, the familiar words a reflex, a desperate plea for the pain to stop. He called her an "incompetent bitch" before turning on his heel, leaving her alone with the hum of the idling plane and the chilling realization of her new reality. She was being sent across the country, to family members she hadn't seen since she was five, into a future she knew nothing about.

Hours later, the bustling New York airport gave way to the overwhelming crowds of an Italian one. Juliana, clutching her backpack like a shield, found refuge in a forgotten corner, knees to her chest. She waited, and waited, and waited, a growing knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach. Two in the afternoon. Five and a half hours since she landed. No one had come. The part of her that had been beaten into obedience told her to stay put. But a growing desperation began to gnaw at her resolve.