A day had passed since I'd last seen Nicholas Klain at the packhouse. By now, he'd probably spent the night getting acquainted with his toilet. I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Who knew revenge could taste this sweet?
I sat in the employee room of the dining hall, one leg crossed over the other, holding a glass of wine in hand. The warm glow of accomplishment weighed on my shoulders. I allowed myself to savor the moment. I could get used to this.
It was evening, and there were a few minutes left until the dining room closed for the last meal of the day. I'd been called in to help with the dishwashing again, but had stolen a quiet moment to myself before I left. Across the room, Sofia fumbled with the keys to her locker.
I'd given her the autograph William Blake had signed for me. She
