She was seven years old.

And for the past week, she had been selling anything she could find just to buy bread.

“Turn here,” Emma whispered, pointing down a narrow street.

The road was lined with broken streetlights and buildings that looked abandoned years ago.

Cracked sidewalks.

Boarded windows.

A silence that only existed in places where people were too afraid to make noise.

A House Stripped of Everything

Rocco parked outside a small house with peeling paint and a crooked front door hanging loosely on its hinges.

The windows were dark.

There was no electricity.