Prologue

If I make myself small, nobody will know I’m here.

I shuffle closer to the wall, hugging my knees, the mattress a roof over my head that smells like feathers and straw. My teeth chatter, eyelids trying to shut, like when I need to sleep. Little puffs of white come out when I breathe.

The cold inside my chest is so big and heavy. But I like this cold—it feels slow and quiet. Better than my dreams that are hot and hurting.

This cold feels like it has an end. Somewhere.

Perhaps if I reach it, I’ll remember who I am?

My memories … they’re a splat of black. A scribbled drawing that makes no sense.

I think I’m missing something important—

The door creaks open, but I’m too sleepy to turn toward the sound of footsteps stomping into the room.

“Where did you say she was?”

My heart does this jumpy thing that makes me feel sick.

I don’t know that voice.

It’s not from my nightmares; not one of the voices that whispers at me. It’s not the voice from that night when my memories began—the deep voice that said I was safe, but that I’ve never heard again.

“Under the bed. My arms aren’t long enough to reach her, and the damn thing is bolted to the floor.”

I know that voice. The woman who gives me warm cuddles at night and tells me everything’s going to be okay.

She says I need more sunshine. That it’ll make me feel better.

But I like the dark.

More tears slip down my cheeks as bare feet move around the bed. I watch each step, tucking into a tighter ball. Another shiver, and I rest my head on my knees, breathing cold air all over them.

I squeeze my eyes shut …

If I can’t see you, you can’t see me.

“Orlaith?”

They keep using that name.

Not me.

Not me.

Not me.

I’m someone else. Someone happy … I think. But I don’t know where my giggles went.

What is this big blackness I can’t stop slipping into?

Something tugs at my shift, and I’m dragged along the floor, clawing at the boards. I scream bigger than I ever have, but my sound doesn’t come. It never does.

I think it fell down that hole, too.

I’m pulled into the sunlight that makes my eyes hurt; pulled against a warm chest that smells like flowers and wood, wrapped in big arms I bleed with my teeth and nails.

They got me—

I thrash and claw and kick, desperate to get back under the bed.

To hide.

“It’s okay,” the woman says from beside the door, over and over. “His name is Baze. He’s here to help.”

Her face scrunches up, and she turns away. The smell of her sadness fills the room.

The arms tighten until my strength goes. Until I stop fighting and trying to make my scared sound that always hurts my throat.

The man places his hands on my cheek and arm, and a warmth fills me that makes my teeth chatter less. Makes me feel less sleepy.

“I know the hurt is loud, but it won’t always be.” He holds my hands, like they’re butterflies caught in a warm hug. “One day it’ll stop screaming at you. It’ll become nothing more than a whisper.”

It’s the whispers that scare me most. There’s so many of them, and they’re always there, speaking to each other.

Speaking to me.

Maybe I should let that huge hole in my chest gobble them up. Maybe the horrible dreams would stop. The ones where I hear those same voices but from real people that always end up burnt in the dirt with wide eyes that won’t blink.

“Small seeds grow into big, strong things.” He blows heated air onto my hands. “But they need sunlight and warmth to set their roots in the soil. And like it or not … you can’t get that under the bed.”

I lift my head, seeing eyes half-hidden by messy hair the color of chestnuts. He smiles, and though it doesn’t reach his eyes, I like it. I like his warm hands and the soft way he looks at me. It makes the backs of my eyes sting.

“Don’t cry, Laithy.” He brushes his thumb across my cheek, collecting some of the cold and replacing it with a smear of heat.

I don’t know why he’s telling me not to cry when he has tears on his cheeks, too.

“I’ll be here for you.” His voice is rougher than it was before, and his smile loses shape. “Always.”