I crept into the room I was sharing with Free at a quarter to two, but didn’t fall asleep until the sun began to peek over the horizon the next morning. I dreamed of darkness—not the forest, but the kind of darkness that comes with walls on four sides, closing in.

Bad things happen to bad little girls.

I knew it was a dream, but it didn’t matter. I could still feel myself clawing at the tiny crack beneath a shadow-cast door, a whimper rising in the back of my throat. I was still whimpering when I woke up—and I wasn’t the only one.

Silver stood over me, nudging me awake. Pup. Wake up, pup. Her high-pitched whine broke off as the world came into focus for me and her tongue lapped at my face.

Kira, I thought. I’m Kira. That’s Silver. Kira and Silver. We’re fine.

In the early years, I’d woken up like this more mornings than I could count.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.” Free tossed something at me. It wasn’t until it landed on my stomach that I realized it was a Pop-Tart. I sat up before Silver could get ideas about snatching it.

“Breakfast?” I asked Free.

“Breakfast, part two. Part one was rough. Ness is down with the flu, and let’s just say that Bales Bennett’s culinary skills leave something to be desired.”

Given the size of Free’s appetite, I deeply suspected she’d eaten whatever it was that Bales had attempted to cook anyway. As I eyed the Pop-Tart, she tossed something else at me—a file folder.

“What’s this?” I asked, shoving Silver over after a quick scratch behind her ears. I flipped open the folder just as Free answered my question.

“An overview of Miss Penelope Ferris’s research into our missing persons.”

“The librarian?” My mind went immediately to the conversation I’d overhead between Gabriel and Bales the day before.

“One and the same,” Free replied. “Jude has developed an ill-fated crush on her—he digs the glasses.” Free hopped up on the dresser, her heels bouncing lightly against the drawers. “Boy is still hanging out at the library in what he insists is ‘completely necessary recon’ and not at all an effort to prove himself helpful to his new lady love by stacking shelves.”

“Did he tell you he’s a lover, not a fighter?” I asked.

“I believe the direct quote was ‘Make love, not war or questionable breakfast choices.’”