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“It’s not evennine,” Jordan calls after her.

She turns around and grins. Her eyes, which are an impossibly light blue, are laughing. “Bloody Mary hour! I’ll be over at Biddy McBain’s, if you want to join me on your break.”

Did she just wink at me?Jordan thinks.

But she’s already out the door.

After the morning staff meeting, Jordan does a round of safety checks. Most people are with their social workers or therapists. A few pace the hallways, and a handful of others are doing breathwork with Harold Wong in Room G. No one curses at him when he knocks on their door; fortunately he hasn’t interrupted anyone’s naked burpees since his first day. But TJ in Room 13 is dry humping his pillow.

“Safety—um—sorry—safety check,” Jordan mutters. “As you were.” TJ is obviously not in danger.

Back in the hall, Jordan sees Hannah come out of Dr. Nicholas’s office, her face red and her eyes puffy.

“Hannah?” he says. “Hi! Can you … see me?”

She wipes her nose on her sleeve. “What kind of question is that? I’m not in here forblindness.”

“Right. Sorry. I just meant—” He falls in step beside her. She knows what he meant. “Want to talk?” he says.

“No,” she says.

“How about a puzzle? I brought in a new one. Well, it’s vintage. It’s called Flat Banana, and it’s yellow. The whole thing. Just: yellow.”

Michaela drifts down the hallway, and shedefinitelywinks at him. “I’ll do it,” she says.

But Hannah doesn’t want anything to do with his stupid puzzle. She looks shaky. Shell-shocked.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks. Another stupid question. Of course she’s not feeling okay. She’s been weeping in her therapist’s office. “Do you need to lie down?”

Hannah stops in the middle of the hallway. She’s cringing like his words hurt her. He bites his tongue. Twists his hands behind his back.Whatever you need, I want to give it to you, Hannah Doe.

Finally she says, “I feel like I can’t stay.”

Instead of asking her what she means, he just waits. His body feels like a string about to be plucked. He’s nothing but anticipation.Just tell me all your secrets, he thinks.You can trust me.

Mostly.

“I can’t keep holding up the walls,” she says. “There are cracks now. There’s daylight.”

He tries to get her to meet his eyes, but she won’t look up. “Isn’t daylight usually a good thing?”

“Some things should be kept in the dark forever.” She steps over to the wall, leans against it, then slides down to the floor.

Jordan crouches down in front of her. Michaela makes a huffing sound and stalks off down the hall muttering something about special treatment.

“What sorts of things?” he asks.

“Things that happened. Things I don’t want to know.”

“Things that happened toyou?” he says. Maybe they’re finally getting somewhere, here in this cold, bright hallway.

Hannah doesn’t move or respond.

“You know that everyone here wants to help you.Iwant to help you.”

He can hear Andy yelling in the distance: “Why can’t you see that I’m acorpse?”

Hannah shakes her head vehemently. “Meds and groups and cognitive behavioral therapy and mindfulness and fuckingdeep breathingaren’t cutting it. Making collages out of old magazinesand writing poems aren’t helping. Everyone’s always talking about tools to help me get better. Well your toolssuck.”