I’d been smart enough to check before pulling out any nails. Though the marks weren’t complete, the dirt was fine enough to bear a pretty crisp impression.

But Warren looked doubtful. ‘All the boys are wearing Garmont T8s,’ he pointed out. ‘Can you tell us what size you’re talking about?’

I couldn’t. Neither could Shaun or Warren. When they came to have a look, they agreed the prints had been left by a Garmont T8 multi-terrain tactical boot, but nobody could pinpoint the size.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Shaun, squatting among the cobwebs. ‘We can still use these as leverage.’

‘Can anyone even remember the kids’ shoe sizes?’ Warren was scratching his head. ‘Because I can’t.’

‘There’s a list.’ I’d needed it that first day, when I was distributing uniforms. ‘A lot of them were nines.’

‘Good. We can use that.’ Shaun followed me out of the crawl space and into my office, where he collected the list of measurements. Then he and Warren went back to their platoon, leaving me to yank the nails out of the floor. Later, on my way to the laundry, I saw Shaun sitting on the dormitory steps, talking to Aaron. Aaron was shaking his head.

Walking into the camp kitchen that evening was like walking into an ambush. Half the boys were in there with me, and any one of them could have been responsible for the nails. I found myself watching them more intently than usual. I kept thinking, Was it you? Or you?

Section two embraced my gadgets, just like section one. Sam almost broke the electric can opener. Matt was happy chopping onions. Tyler had problems with the garlic crusher, shooting bits of clove all over the place. I kept Flynn well away from the blender, knowing what a drama he’d make of it; he got the salad spinner instead, and complained it was giving him RSI.

The blender went to Zac and Bruno, who used it responsibly—Zac because he’d decided to obey orders, Bruno because he just stood there pushing the ‘on’ button when Zac told him to. I couldn’t imagine Bruno shoving nails through my floor. He didn’t have the energy.

Zac was also low on my list of culprits. After initially carrying on like a spoilt brat, he had become serious and cooperative, though some of the other kids got on his nerves. He had a sharp tongue and often used it on Flynn and Connor and Sam. But he didn’t sass the veterans anymore, and he felt no compulsion to play games with the kitchen appliances. Looking at Zac, I could picture him as an up-and-coming lawyer or an aspiring politician. I couldn’t picture him sticking nails in my floor.