A young girl flashes a hidden signal to a royal guard, prompting him to abruptly halt the parade in stunned disbelief

When the crowd pressed forward, the man lifted the girl up. Her sleeve rode up, revealing bruising around her wrist, the unmistakable pattern of adult fingers that had gripped too tightly. One more hour, Vale heard him mutter.

Then we’re leaving, and if you’ve been good, maybe I won’t punish you tonight. The girl’s shoulders sagged with resignation. Vale felt the familiar pre-combat tension, but remained bound by ceremonial duty.

The man positioned them partially hidden from security cameras while whispering to the girl. Vale caught fragments. Remember what I said about running? They’ll never believe you.

No one’s looking for you anymore. The girl remained expressionless, but her fingers curled into fists, controlling fear, not defiance. When jostled by another tourist, the man yanked her upright, revealing more bruises in various healing stages on her arm.

The man noticed Vale watching and quickly adjusted her clothing, checking his watch before moving toward the edge of the crowd. Vale recognised the predatory behaviour from counter-trafficking, training the regiment had received just months earlier. The girl’s responses, hyper-vigilance, flinching, resigned compliance, suggested sustained trauma, not just strict parenting.

Her complete silence throughout the ceremony was telling, survival through invisibility. The way she calculated each movement before making it, how she anticipated the man’s moods through subtle shifts in his posture, spoke of someone who had learned that survival depended on reading her captor’s intentions. It reminded Vale of hostages he’d encountered in war zones, people who had developed the same haunted hyper-awareness.

When the man checked exit routes, the girl’s eyes met Vale’s directly. The sunlight caught the unshed tears brimming at her lashes, magnifying the blue of her irises. Her look conveyed desperate pleading that cut through his professional reserve and struck something primal in him, the instinct that had once made him run into gunfire to save a wounded comrade.

An elderly couple had been watching with concern. The woman approached. Lovely day for your visit, she said to the girl.

First time seeing the guards? The man answered for her. My niece is shy. We’re in a hurry.

I taught primary school for 40 years, she persisted. Shy children are often the most observant. Her husband added, my wife has a gift with children.

Vale recognised their strategy, creating a protective social buffer around the girl. Sophie, would you like a sweet? the woman offered. Again, Vale noticed the girl’s slight hesitation at the name.

No sweets before lunch, the man replied with an edge that made the couple exchange glances. A young mother stopped nearby. My daughter has that same backpack from the Manchester school district, she said, pointing to the pink bag.

The name tag looks turned in. Shouldn’t it say Sophie? The man’s hand tightened. We need to go, he said abruptly, pulling the girl toward the exit.

Our tour bus is waiting. But the ceremony isn’t finished, the elderly man protested. Change of plans, the man snapped, dragging the girl through the crowd.

Vale tracked them while maintaining position. The girl looked back once, her eyes meeting his with intensity that communicated everything. Both knew the next moments would determine her fate.

The man pulled her roughly toward the gates, his head constantly scanning for security while maintaining a grip that made her stumble. Walk properly, he hissed, you’re making a scene. A tour group briefly blocked Vale’s view…