“Then I heard you crying. You, the baby who never cried, who simply watched us all the time with your big dark eyes. You were right, Adeline. You unnerved Mom and Dad. But not me. Never me. I went to you. I opened the closet door and I picked you up and held you close. And you stopped crying. You looked at me. You smiled. Then the door burst open, and shouting men poured into our house. And I whispered to you to close your eyes. Just close your eyes, I told you. I’ll keep you safe. ’Cause you’re my baby sister, and if you don’t got family, then you got nothing at all.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you that day in foster care. I did what I was taught and they took you away from me and I was alone. You have no idea, Adeline, just how alone. But I didn’t forget you. I remembered what I’d promised Daddy, and I found you so I could watch over you and keep you safe. I’m the big sister and I won’t ever let anyone hurt you. I promised, and regardless of what you think of me, I’ve always been a person of my word.”

My sister’s voice trailed off. I’d stopped moving toward the waiting door. I stared at Shana instead. Her face held the strangest expression I’d ever seen. Not just earnestness but sincerity.

“You’re in league with a killer,” I whispered.

“How? I can’t communicate with the outside world. Someone inside here would have to like me enough to help. No one likes me, Adeline. We both know that.”

“You know things. My fuchsia sweater.”

“I see things. That’s what thirty years of solitude does to you. That day, you had a fuchsia-colored thread stuck to your top. It stood out against that stupid gray shirt. It made sense that you had been wearing a brighter color but changed so you wouldn’t stand out while visiting prison. And that . . . angered me. That this place makes even you depressing.”

“One hundred and fifty-three,” I said.