Without hesitation, Maya began setting up the pieces. "Morphy versus the Duke of Brunswick, 1858," she said. "It's called the Opera Game."
"Why that one?" James asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.
"Because Morphy was an outsider, too," Maya said, moving the pieces through the famous game with practiced ease. "An American in Europe, young, dismissed by the establishment. But he played with such beauty, such pure understanding, that they had to acknowledge his genius."
"And now you're following in his footsteps," James said softly.
"No," Maya corrected him, her young voice carrying the weight of generations. "I'm following in my grandmother's footsteps. She just never got to finish the journey."
The next morning arrived with a kind of crystalline clarity that only winter can bring. Maya woke in a bed for the first time in months—a real bed with clean sheets that smelled like lavender, and a down comforter that felt like sleeping in a cloud. For a moment, she thought she was dreaming, that she'd wake up in a doorway somewhere, frozen and hungry. But the soft morning light filtering through curtains told her this was real.
Eleanor Whitmore knocked gently on the door. "Maya, breakfast is ready when you are."
Maya sat up, still wearing the soft pajamas Eleanor had given her the night before. They were probably expensive, but to Maya, their true value was in their clean warmth. She padded downstairs to find Richard already at the breakfast table reading The Wall Street Journal, while Eleanor set out plates of eggs, bacon, and fresh fruit.
"Good morning," Richard said formally, though his tone was warmer than it had been the previous evening. "I trust you slept well?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
"We have a busy day ahead," he continued, folding his newspaper. "Charles Hoffman will be here at nine with the guardianship papers. James Chen wants to work with you from ten to noon. This afternoon, Victoria insists on taking you shopping, though I've warned her to be practical."
Maya ate slowly, savoring every bite, still not entirely convinced this wasn't all going to disappear. Eleanor watched her with a mixture of sympathy and curiosity.
"Maya," Eleanor said gently, "last night, you mentioned foster homes. Would you be comfortable telling us about your experiences? It would help Charles with the legal matters."