The planning room was full of static — voices, monitors, and maps alive with motion.
A full tactical raid was in motion.
Cain, Dirk, Oren, and Raven were already being briefed.
Rook sat quietly in the corner, arms wrapped around her knees.
Grayson stood in front of the board, issuing orders.
> “Cain takes breach entry. Dirk, secure the lower levels. Oren and Raven go in through the northeast dock. Surveillance will guide from rooftop cameras.”
He turned, eyes scanning past everyone — until they landed on her.
> “Rook.
You’ll handle the rooftop.”
Silence.
She tilted her head slightly.
> “Surveillance only?”
> “Yes.”
> “Why?”
> “Because we need a clean operation. No risks. No blood.”
A beat.
She didn’t argue.
Didn’t blink.
Just whispered:
> “You’re afraid of me now.”
---
After the Meeting
The room emptied slowly.
One by one, boots faded down the corridor.
Even Cain hesitated at the door before leaving.
But Vera stayed.
She stood for a while — watching Rook quietly pick at the corner of a loose tile in the floor.
Then she walked over.
And without asking, she sat beside her on the cold tiles.
Rook didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Vera didn’t try to start with small talk.
She just asked gently:
> “Why don’t you ever look people in the eye?”
Rook’s hands stilled.
> “Because it feels like breaking something.”
Vera waited.
> “What do you mean?”
> “When I was small, my father looked at me only once.
It was the day he took my kidney.
He said… ‘Don’t cry. She deserves it more than you.’”
Vera’s throat closed.
> “His daughter was sick?”
> “His real daughter.”
Silence.
> “He never looked at me again.”
---
They sat there for a long while.
No movement.
No tears.
Then Vera whispered:
> “Your eyes… they’re golden.
They look like sunlight.
But they also look like warnings.”
> “That’s what my mother said.”
> “Do you hate them?”
Rook nodded.
> “Every time I see them, I remember I’m not supposed to exist.”
Vera leaned closer, voice low:
> “That’s a lie someone else gave you.”
> “It still feels true.”
---
For a moment, neither of them said anything.
Then Vera did something no one had done before.
She didn’t ask permission.
She just leaned forward and gently touched her forehead to Rook’s.
Not as a parent.
Not as a teammate.
Just as a person who saw her.
> “You don’t have to be afraid of looking at me,” Vera whispered.
Rook didn’t respond.
But her hands, which had been trembling quietly for hours…
“Not every child gets a name. Not every life gets justice.”
Born a shadow in a golden house, she had no name, no birthday, and no place to belong. A bastard child carved from secrets, Rook was trained to be strong, not soft — useful, not loved. At six, her father stole her kidney for his beloved daughter. At seven, she was thrown away like a broken doll.
By eight, she became a thief with the mind of a detective. By nine, a quiet weapon with a stare colder than winter and eyes that made her hate her reflection.
But the world she escaped would never let her go.
When a secret organization takes her in, she finds something she never expected — people who offer her food without conditions, warmth without demands, and names like “friend”, “sister”, “daughter.”
But monsters don’t forget what they created.
And ghosts don’t rest easy when their scars still bleed.
Lost Tears is a heart-shattering tale of trauma, survival, and a child’s desperate search for love in a world that only taught her how to run, hide, and hurt. Told through raw emotion, fractured families, and found hope, it asks one question:
> What does it mean to be human — if no one ever let you be a child
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