Twenty Five
Back in our wing, I lock the door. The click is small and mean. It doesn’t make me feel safer.
Bella curls on her bed, knees drawn up, the duvet tucked high. I sit beside her and smooth her hair until the lines in her forehead ease. The shake in my hands takes longer to go.
“What did he do?” I ask softly. “Exactly.”
She swallows. “He asked if I’d help. He said I didn’t have to, but—” She glances at me, shame flickering there. “He said it would keep you safe.”
I force my mouth into something meant to be a smile. “It isn’t your job to keep me safe.”
“But you always keep me safe,” she says in a small voice, and something in my chest cracks.
“What did he ask you to do?” I keep my tone even, though it takes effort.
“He said to stand still. To hold out my hand. He touched her
