Someone snorted loudly. I’d put my bets on Gabriel.

“I know you think you can help her,” Cromwell said. “And I know you want to help her, but I won’t have you risking your life for her. You have no experience with a gift like that. I know what will happen.”

“Father—”

“I won’t lose everything I have worked for—I won’t lose you for anyone. If you push this, then I will remove her from this house.”

Out of the stark silence that followed Cromwell’s warning, Hayden finally spoke, “That won’t be necessary, Father.”

Wishing I hadn’t eavesdropped, I pushed away from the wall. My heart thundered in my chest as I crept down the hall, feeling sick to my stomach. What was this place called the “Facility,” and did he really think I’d let him turn me over to them?

I roamed the many rooms until I stumbled upon my sister and two people I hadn’t seen yet. They looked so much alike I knew they must be siblings.

The guy was handsome in a cold, methodical way, like he’d been chiseled out of stone and someone had forgotten to give him a touch of warmth. He didn’t look up, although he stiffened when I entered the room.

The girl was playing dolls with Olivia. She was stunning, with black hair, bright green eyes, high cheekbones, flawless skin, lush red lips, and a body I’d kill for. She was kind of girl that I wanted to look like and knew I never would.

Olivia shot to her feet once she spotted me in the doorway, screeching my name loud enough to make me cringe.

The guy glanced up from the book he was reading. His stare wasn’t hostile, but I wouldn’t call it friendly. The girl, on the other hand, stood and motioned to the guy. They left without saying a word to me.

Sitting down beside Olivia, I tried to ignore their reaction to me. I picked up one of the dolls and realized it was the one Olivia had been whining about for weeks.

“Emmie? Did you know that Parker and Phoebe are twins?” She pointed at the door the siblings had used. “I like the people here.”

“You do?” I made the doll walk over to hers.

She bounced her head up and down. “And Liz is nice. She plays dolls with me when Mommy is sleeping.”

“Who’s Liz?”

“She lives here.”

I dropped the doll on the floor, irate by the idea of some stranger buddying up with Olivia. “Has Liz been with you since you got here?”

“Yes. She came to the school when we left home and got me a Happy Meal.” She picked up my doll.

Happy Meals—the unofficial way to a child’s heart. How devious of this Ms. Liz.

“Everyone is nice,” she went on, dancing the dolls between us, “to me and Mommy.”

Hearing that just pissed me off, and I knew it was stupid, that I should feel relief that everyone was so damn nice to Olivia. I stood, scanning the huge room for a window to throw open or break.