“Nothing like that, unless you want to be part of Hunter’s crew. Which, by the way, I would advise against. He’s an asshole.”

“I’m not—” I swallow the objection. “So what is it?”

“You know, asking you a few questions. Explaining the house rules. Making sure you have everything for a pleasant stay in this establishment.”

I raise an eyebrow. “This place loves its rules, huh?”

Khalil smiles. “See, now you’re getting it. Once you understand it, life in Hope really isn’t that complicated.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” I say, before I can stop myself.

He doesn’t even blink. “You’re right. But look at it from the bright side: we have a roof over our head, steady food on the table, and people who are paid to tell us they believe in us. We should be grateful, or so I hear.”

“So grateful, I’d be willing to commit a felony for it.” I wince.

“That’s the spirit.” He hesitates for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “Did you?”

“What?”

Khalil raises an inquiring eyebrow. “Commit a felony?”

Same question. Different words. Everyone I talk to wants to know why I’m here.

I shrug. “Nah, I didn’t do anything. I woke up here one morning.”

Perhaps, one day, I’ll wake up at home again.

He gets to his feet and brushes his hands on his navy-blue shirt. “Fine then, keep your secrets. I’ll figure it out one way or another.” He doesn’t seem angry, just amused. He seems to be amused by everything here.

By the time I’ve scrambled to my feet and steadied myself against the wall, he’s already walking away from me, back to the other side of the yard.

I lean back against the wall and breathe in the air. It’s getting colder. Maybe the leaves are changing colors outside, though I can’t see it from here. But if I close my eyes, I can pretend.

* * *

By the time we’re counted back inside, I’m stiff and hurting all over. I place my hand on my side once and cringe. It feels like I’ve been tenderized.

The guard at the doorway frowns but doesn’t say anything, which is a small mercy. Or negligence. Either/or. I could tell her what happened, of course. Part of me still wants to believe that authority figures have my best intentions at heart or that the guards only misgender me by accident. That if I tell her, she’ll prevent it from happening again and make sure that Reid gets what he deserves.

But Hunter and his crew could never get away with what they do unless the guards purposefully looked the other way. Perhaps they think it builds character. Perhaps they simply don’t care about us that much.

Like Father John, the old parish priest at our church, who thrived on telling people they were incorrigible sinners. No matter what we said or did. No matter how many Hail Marys we said. Incorrigible. I loved the church. I hated him. I thought things would be better when Father Michael took over.