George says, walking into the room. He’s covered in blood, and his head is hanging. A sharp pain rips through my chest, and I take a deep, ragged breath. “The police?” “They are finished, they will call if they need more.” “She jumped to her own death,” I whisper, glaring at my hands. “It isn’t your fault, sir. She was damaged.” “I was meant to help her,” I bark, lifting my eyes and shooting daggers at him. “Some people can’t be helped.” I don’t bother to answer. He doesn’t understand. No one does. These girls are here with me for a reason, and I’m meant to be teaching them to trust me. They’re supposed to understand that they can have a good life here if they do the right thing, not jumping off a building out of fear. It makes me question everything I am. “Is Number Thirteen still out?” he asks. I turn my head and stare at my closed bedroom door. Number Thirteen hasn’t stirred; she hasn’t even made a sound. “Yes.” “May I ask, sir, but who is Lanthie?”
