“This is your ‘get out of jail free’ card, Morgan.” Andrea leaned forward, her red lips forming the words slowly and clearly. “If you hold up your end of the bargain—finishing your work—quality work—on the mural by the fifth of August—you’ll be out on parole and will never have to set foot in this place again. If I were you, I’d start reading up on restoration.”

I looked toward the doorway of the small room. I imagined walking through it and down the hallway to the front entrance and freedom. I imagined twirling in circles outside, my arms stretched wide to take in the fresh air. I didn’t think I’d ever be completely free of this place, though. I’d always carry my prison with me. I felt that imaginary prison closing around me even as I sat there, even as I imagined walking out the front door.

Still, I would rather an imaginary prison than this hideous real one.

“I’ll do it,” I said finally, sitting back.

How I would do it, I had no idea.

Chapter 2

ANNA

December 4, 1939

Edenton, North Carolina