THREE MONTHS LATER

"Finish the food, Bren."

"It's disgusting."

"It's all we have at the moment."

"You promised me you'd give me decent food, sir."

"Stop. Calling. Me. Sir."

Siren glares at him. "Sorry, sir."

Jorge buries his head in his hands, as if he's rethinking his life choices. "Talk like a kid, play like a kid, stop giving me to those blank creepy stares, stop replying in that way, stop ending every sentence with sir."

The girl no longer replies; she is eating her food, expression pointed.

Four-year-old Brenda leans in. "I stole a dictionary and now call him estúpido."

Siren hums as she prods the mashed potatoes in front of her with a fork. They're moist and taste off.

"It's like mud," she announces. "The food at home was way better."

"What, you fished your own cute little crabs out of the sea and ate them?" Jorge mimics, the 'cute little crabs' in a way too heavy Australian accent. "This is all we have right now. Without me, you'd be dead."

She smashes her fork into the food once again. This time, a little harder. Hard enough for a few of the wet drops to land on Jorge's shirt. "Bludger," she mutters.

Brenda watches with amused eyes, as Jorge slowly attempts to dab the stains off his clothes. His eyes are colder towards Siren now. Narrowed.

"Listen here," he says. "From now on, you're in my property, which means you will listen to my rules. You will eat the food I give you. If you don't, fine, but you will not complain. My men daily risk their lives to provide you of this."

"For potatoes?"

His jaw tightens. "Yes, but that's just one of many. Please, be grateful. I've got enough to handle already."

"Yet you were the one who asked me to come with you."

"Because you're a freaking baby, who was all alone!" Jorge nearly throws his hands in the air.

"I'm four." Her arms cross.

"So is Brenda. Do you see her misbehaving? No." Then he mutters, "Not today, at least."

Silence falls. Siren takes a last few lazy bites off the food, then scoots her plate forward onto the table. It causes a screeching sound in her ears.

"What's a bludger?" Brenda whispers, scraping her last pieces of potato away.

Siren shrugs. "Daddy used to yell it at the phone, so it can't be good."

"Okay, so we've got estúpido and bludger."

"Cunt."

Jorge's head snaps up in less than a second. "What did you—"

"That's nice," Siren defends. "Mommy called her friends that... but sometimes when she was angry, she'd also say it."

Brenda gulps. "Wow. So it has two meanings?"

"I guess so. Sir, can we go play?"

His eyes flash from Brenda to Siren and back to Siren. "Yes. But don't cause any trouble. Lights will go out at half past six. My men will bring you to bed."

After a while, Siren had learned that even though her parents never paid that much attention to her, the guards did care... but in another way. They were always on the watch. They'd notice what she and Brenda were doing.

But they wouldn't read bedtime stories, like her mommy used to do. On one side, that's fine. The girl hadn't cried and isn't planning on doing it any time soon, especially not about her parents' death. As said, they weren't home a lot. The bedtime stories were actually the nicest thing she got. So if the guards don't remind her of it, she won't have a decent reason to cry.

And without a decent reason, you cannot cry.

That's what Siren's convinced of, at least.