“I’m complying, okay? I’m complying,” I mutter, almost out of habit.

“You better be.” He leans in until it hurts, and I cringe. “You are responsible for the choices you make, Grace, and for the consequences of those choices. You could’ve followed the rules, and none of this would’ve happened. None of this would happen.”

It sounds like he’s talking about something other than my throwaway comment, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what. His words run through my mind and turn and twist.

If Ian would’ve kept his hands to himself, none of this would’ve happened either. If our school had listened to the girl he was assaulting or to me instead of their golden boy. The star of the swimming team. The kid without a history of lying. If the police had listened to us. If justice were justice.

But I learned early on how rare that is.

So I let my shoulders go slack and release the tension from my body. After a while, when my neck starts to ache and I’m certain my hips will be bruised from the collision with the rough stone, Rock registers that I’m not putting up a fight, and he lets me go.

I expect him to push me forward to Warden Davis’s office, make another angry comment about how, if I don’t learn, I’ll be stuck here all the way until my twenty-first birthday, despite the fact that no one’s ever been here that long.

Instead, he takes a step back and brushes his hands. He jerks his head in Scissors’s direction. “You take her to Davis. I’m done with this mess.”

Scissors steps in to hold me, his movements automatic and trained into him, even though I have no escape. His voice holds a warning when he turns to Rock, and his hands tighten around my arms. “Henry…”

Right. I keep forgetting they have normal names too.

Rock must shake his head or something, because Scissors’s grip slackens. “Yeah, okay. Stay safe.”

And before I can react or ask what the fuck is going on, Rock turns and walks back through the hallway, leaving Scissors and me staring at each other in awkward silence.

Then he pushes me in the right direction, and his voice is softer. Tired. “Not a word, Grace. For once. Not a word.”

I know. I need to find a way to not say everything that pops into my brain. But here’s the thing I’ve learned about Hope: we’re not taught to moderate ourselves; we’re taught to be silent. Don’t speak up. Don’t talk back. Don’t question too much, too loudly, too often.

At some point, we’ll stop using our voice altogether. Because what’s the point if no one listens? What’s the point if we’re only punished?

Maybe that’s when they’ll call me rehabilitated. Maybe then they’ll care. Not when I’m better, but when I’m the Grace they want me to be and I’ve lost myself completely.

The worst thing is: it’s effective. I’m a coward. Maybe I am a bad person. Once we get to Warden Davis’s office, I simply stand there, arms to my sides, and prepare to let his words wash over me.