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When he felt like he’d waited a suitable time, he returned to the apartment. The candles were doused; Sara had left a mat and pillow for him. He undressed in the dark and lay down. Only then did he notice the note that Sara had propped on his pack. He lit a candle and read.

I’m sorry. I love you. All eyes.—S

Just three sentences, but they were all he needed. They were the same three sentences that the two of them had been saying to each other every day of their lives.

—

He awoke to see Kate’s face just inches from his own.

“Uncle Michael, wake…up.”

He drew himself up on his elbows. Hollis was standing by the door. “Sorry. I told her to leave you alone.”

It took Michael a moment to gather himself. He wasn’t used to sleeping so late. He wasn’t used to sleeping at all. “Is Sara here?”

“Gone for hours.” He beckoned to his daughter. “Let’s go—we’re going to be late.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Daddy’s scared of the sisters.”

“Your daddy’s a smart man. Those ladies make my insides twist.”

“Michael,” said Hollis, “you’re not helping.”

“Right.” He looked at the girl. “Do as your daddy says, sweetheart.”

Kate surprised him with a sudden, forceful hug. “Will you be here when I get back?”

“Sure I will.”

He listened to their footsteps descending the stairs. You had to hand it to the kid. Pure emotional blackmail, but what could he do? He dressed and washed up at the sink. Sara had left rolls for breakfast, but he wasn’t really hungry. He could find something later if he needed to, assuming he actually felt like eating.

He grabbed his pack and headed out.

—

Sara was finishing her morning rounds when one of the nurses fetched her. She made her way to the reception area to find Sister Peg standing at the desk.

“Sister, hello.”

Sister Peg was one of those people who changed any room she entered, tightening every screw. Her age was anybody’s guess—at least sixty, though it was said that she’d looked exactly the same for twenty years. A figure of legendary cantankerousness, though Sara knew better; beneath the stern exterior was a woman devoted completely to the children in her care.

“Might I have a word with you, Sara?”

Moments later, they were headed to the orphanage. As they drew near, Sara could hear the whoops and cries of children; morning recess was in full swing. They entered through the garden gate.

“Dr. Sara, Dr. Sara!”

Sara didn’t make it five steps onto the playground before the children descended. They knew her well, but part of their excitement, she understood, was the presence of any visitor. She extricated herself with promises to stay longer next time and followed Sister Peg into the building.

The girl was sitting on the table in the little room Sara used for exams. Her eyes flicked up as Sara entered. She could have been twelve or thirteen; it was difficult to tell through the layers of filth. She was wearing a grimy burlap frock, knotted over one shoulder; her feet, blackened with dirt and covered with scabs, were bare.

“Domestic Security brought her in late last night,” Sister Peg said. “She hasn’t spoken a word.”

The girl had been caught trying to break into an ag storehouse. Sara could see why: she looked half-starved.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Sara. Can you tell me your name?”

The girl, peering intently at Sara from under the hood of her matted hair, gave no reply. Her eyes—the only part of her body that had moved since Sara entered the room—darted to Sister Peg, then back at Sara.

“We tried to find out who her parents are,” Sister Peg said, “but there’s no record of anybody looking for her.”

Sara guessed there wouldn’t be. She removed her stethoscope from her bag and showed the girl. “I’m going to listen to your heart—would that be okay?”

No words, yet the girl’s eyes said she could. Sara slid the knotted side of the frock from her shoulder. She was thin as a reed, but her breasts had just begun to show. At the feel of the cold disk on her skin, the girl flinched slightly, but that was all.

“Sara, you should look at this.”

Sister Peg was staring at the girl’s back. It was covered with burns and lash marks. Some were old, others still weeping. Sara had seen it before, but never like this.

She looked at the girl. “Honey, can you tell me who did this to you?”

“I don’t think she can talk,” Sister Peg said.