“Just one night.” I sat on my bed, the ropes beneath the mattress straining. On the table between the two narrow beds was the only fresh thing in the whole room: the promised cotton for our ears.

What was it we were not supposed to hear?

—

After Justine’s breathing went steady and slow with sleep, I eased out of bed, hungry and restless. I longed for the nights when, sleepless or plagued by nightmares, I could sneak down the hall and crawl into Victor’s bed. He was nearly always awake. Reading or writing. His brain never stopped, sleep too much of a nuisance. Perhaps that was why he was plagued by his fevers—his body forced him to finally shut down.

Knowing that whenever I was awake he would be, too, made life less lonely. The last two endless years I would lie in bed, wondering if he was awake. Certain he was. Certain that, if I could just get to him, he would shift over and let me curl up next to him and his work. To this day, nothing comforted me more than the scent of paper and ink.

I wished horrible Frau Gottschalk had a library, if only so I could bring a book to bed with me.

Confident that all my years of nighttime creeping would keep me safe, I slowly turned the doorknob. I remembered that the door creaked and would need to be moved with utmost care.

But my memory mattered not. The door was locked. From the outside.

Suddenly the room, which before had merely been too small, was suffocating. I could almost smell the rank breath of other children, feel the press of scabbed knees and brutal elbows. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply to exorcise the demons of my past. I would not go back to that. Ever.

But still there was not enough air in the room. I went to the shutters and did my best to pry them open without waking Justine. As I worked, I went over my plan.

I would go to Victor’s residence in the morning. I would not accuse or get angry. That never worked with Victor. I would smile and embrace him and remind him how much he loved me, how much better his days were with me in them. And if he brought up Henry, I would be perfectly innocent.

“What?” I whispered to myself in absolute surprise. “He asked you what?”

My finger got caught beneath one of the slats. I swore viciously beneath my breath, working it free. It was warm and wet. I stuck it in my mouth before the blood could stain my nightgown.