No answer. He wasn’t expecting one. The mere sight of her, vacant and disconnected, fractured his soul.

“They tell me you had a bad night again. Nightmares, is it?”

Her muscles flinched beneath her dress, but she said nothing. This patient had him by the heart more than most—perhaps because of her flower name, like Dahlia’s. Or maybe because of the many other ways the woman resembled her. She was so young, so helpless, with that very same wistful little-girl look Dahlia had possessed.

“I trust you’ll have a better night tonight, Violet.”

He placed the offering beside her as he always did, and she glanced at it, looking up at him, and then away. Neither the man nor the flower held any meaning in her distant world, but he did it as if making an offering to Dahlia.

No one—no one—would be abandoned in this place. Not ever again.

Before Mitchell’s arrival, Violet had been isolated for so long that she’d forgotten how to talk, how to be human. She’d been animated and troublesome once, even frantic he’d heard, but that was in the distant past. Now she had fits of panic in which she rocked passionately back and forth, sometimes screaming in horror as if someone tried to pull her soul right out of her body . . . or she sat in this dejected, eerie silence. There was no in-between.

Staff had taken to locking her up alone most days, seeing no benefit of having her amongst the others when her unpredictable outbursts disturbed them, but Mitchell wouldn’t have it. Her eruptions were relatively contained, not injuring anyone, and isolation wasn’t good for a soul. Yet the small freedom of being out in this room only seemed to make her quieter—even more edgy and withdrawn.

Delicate, withered Violet was one of the few patients who’d ever made him wonder if some were incurable. Which in turn made him question the usefulness of spending his life in this place, of whether or not he was doing any good at all by remaining. Nothing penetrated her dulled mind, and she was nearly feral. No amount of effort on his part encouraged her more human side—and indeed, Thornhill had insinuated she hadn’t one. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to give up on her. Perhaps the day he did would be the last before a breakthrough was about to occur.

Today was not that day.

Heaving a sigh, he turned back to his patients. Such unique people they were, so wholly themselves at every moment. A thought flashed through his brain—Dahlia never would have given up on them. Not even Violet.