~Bianca's POV~
Martha's hands moved gently, rhythmically, as she dabbed the cloth along my shoulder, unfazed by the bruises or the raw, trembling skin.
"From how he was when Sir Herman first brought him in," she murmured in a soft but certain voice, "I can definitely say… this is him being happy."
I froze.
What?
That shut me up completely.
How was he when Herman first brought him in?
My lips parted to ask, but Martha was already wringing the cloth out, her face smoothing into that calm, blank stillness that told me the conversation was over. A wall I couldn't push through.
So I shut my mouth. But my thoughts wouldn't follow.
Back in high school, everyone knew Damien, not because he was popular, but because he stood out. Quiet. Odd. Dirt-poor. The kind of boy who wore the same shoe
