Chapter 4

My eyes stayed glued to the soldiers, who had set up a camp outside. Seeing them gave me chills, reminding me of the danger just beyond my hiding place. I knew I couldn't stay hidden forever; I had to find a way to survive and learn why my family was taken.

With new determination, I promised myself I would go on this dangerous journey, face the unknown, and get justice for my family. The outside world was scary and mysterious, but I was ready to start figuring it out.

Months passed, each day a quiet fight to stay alive. Being alone was both a curse and a blessing. It gave me time to find secrets hidden in the mansion, but it also made me miss the outside world and the answers it held.

During those months, a strong determination grew inside me. I was set on saving my parents and finding out why they were arrested. Even though the world outside was still a mystery, I was ready to face it.

The mansion, once a place of comfort, became my fortress of solitude and a treasure trove of knowledge. I began exploring every nook and cranny, searching for clues and resources. There was a safe in the mansion, and I didn't know what was inside, but I was determined to open it. I was sure it held some answers.

The safe was hidden behind a bookshelf in my father's study. It was a heavy, iron monstrosity with a complex combination lock. Cracking it became an obsession. I spent countless hours experimenting with different combinations, listening for the faint clicks that might signal success.

As time went on, I changed in ways I didn't expect. I used to hate subjects like math and science, but now I found them interesting. It turned out I was pretty good at them too. While I wasn't as passionate as Isma, I got the hang of complex ideas pretty quickly. I devoured books on cryptography and mechanical engineering, hoping they would help me unlock the safe's secrets.

I didn't just learn about numbers and formulas. I also learned about society, etiquette, different jobs, and how people interact. Being stuck in the mansion made me realize I had potential I'd never explored. My parents' extensive library offered insights into politics, history, and philosophy, providing a broader understanding of the world outside.

I also started training hard, getting stronger and learning how to fight. In the basement, I discovered my father's old training room. Equipped with weights, punching bags, and various exercise equipment, it became my new sanctuary. I needed to be ready for whatever challenges lay ahead if I wanted to save my parents. Each day, I pushed myself to the limit, building muscle and honing my reflexes.

As a year in solitude approached, I felt a sense of accomplishment. I had read every book in the library, learned to read and write in multiple languages (even though I couldn't speak them with anyone), and improved my social skills to the point where I felt confident talking to anyone. I practiced speaking aloud, holding imaginary conversations and debates to refine my articulation and rhetoric.

Learning foreign languages became my favorite thing. While I got good at reading and writing them, I knew I needed to speak them to really master them. Since I had no one to practice with, I started having funny conversations with myself. It was a peculiar form of entertainment, a way to stave off loneliness while sharpening my linguistic abilities.

One sunny afternoon, I decided to practice French. I grabbed a French textbook and got to work.

"Bonjour!" I greeted myself with my best French accent, which honestly sounded like a bad impression from a comedy show.

"Bonjour!" I replied to myself, trying to match the silly accent. The ridiculousness of it made me laugh.

"Comment ça va?" I asked, trying to sound fancy.

"Ça va bien, merci!" I answered with a proud smile, even though my pronunciation was terrible.

I kept this weird conversation going, switching between being the eager student and the terrible teacher. It was silly, but it reminded me of how hard it was to learn to speak a language without real practice.

I did the same with Spanish, German, and even Mandarin, each with its own funny mistakes. "Hola, ¿cómo estás?" I would say, then answer myself with an exaggerated, "Muy bien, gracias." My Spanish accent was atrocious, but the process was both educational and amusing.

"Wie geht's?" I asked myself in German, fumbling over the guttural sounds. "Gut, danke," I replied, my voice sounding more robotic than I intended. The complexity of German grammar was a challenge, but I persevered, enjoying the mental exercise.

"Nǐ hǎo ma?" I attempted in Mandarin, the tones tripping me up every time. "Hěn hǎo, xièxiè," I responded, feeling a small sense of accomplishment despite my frequent mistakes. Mandarin's intricate characters and tonal nature made it the hardest language to practice, but it was also the most fascinating.

These goofy talks with myself were a nice break from the seriousness of my situation and gave me a chance to laugh at my own mistakes. It was a reminder that even in the darkest times, humor and perseverance could light the way.

One evening, after months of effort, I finally cracked the safe. The lock clicked open, and I pulled the heavy door aside. Inside, I found a stack of documents, a substantial amount of money, and a small, ornate box. My hands trembled as I opened the box, revealing a collection of letters and a key.

The letters were from my father, addressed to me. They detailed his suspicions about the High Council and their plans, providing names, dates, and places. The key, he explained, was to a hidden storage unit in the city, where more evidence was stored. My father's foresight was astonishing, and his love for us evident in every word.

Armed with this new information, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. The journey ahead was fraught with danger, but I was no longer just a frightened child. I had become stronger, smarter, and more determined than ever. My father's letters were a lifeline, a guide to navigating the perilous path that lay before me.

As I packed a bag with essentials, including the money and documents from the safe, I prepared to leave the mansion that had been both my refuge and prison. The night was dark, the air crisp with the promise of change. Stepping out into the unknown, I felt a mixture of fear and excitement.

The soldiers' campfires flickered in the distance, a reminder of the ever-present threat. But I was ready. Ready to face the world, to uncover the truth, and to bring my family back together. With each step, I moved closer to the answers I sought and the justice my family deserved.

The road ahead was long and uncertain, but I was no longer the same person who had hidden in fear. I was Karima Crown, daughter of Ambassador Karl Crown, and I would not rest until I had uncovered the truth and freed my family. The adventure was just beginning, and I was prepared to meet it head-on.