Chapter 2

I woke up in my bedroom. The stumps had been rebandaged. They throbbed dully.

Mom was at the edge of the bed, eyes swollen. The second I opened my eye, she grabbed my hand.

"How do you feel?"

"I'm okay," I said. "Sorry I worried you."

"Don't." Her voice shook. "Don't apologize."

Dad was in the doorway. "The doctor cleared you—no fractures. But we've arranged for you to see someone. A therapist. She's coming this afternoon."

"Okay," I said.

Mom kissed my forehead and left. Dad followed.

Once the door closed, I sat up and looked out the window.

Serena was in the garden, phone pressed to her ear, back turned. Her shoulders were tight.

She was probably worried I'd told them about the stairs.

I hadn't.

Not yet.

Dr. Voss arrived at three, right on time.

"Wren, can you tell me about your scars?" she asked.

I sat on the couch, legs tucked under me. Easier without the prosthetics.

"I did them myself."

Her pen paused. "You did them to yourself?"

"Yes."

"Why would you hurt yourself?"

"Because if I did it first, before they got angry, they'd go easier on me." I met her eyes. "Preemptive strike."

She said something about how hurting myself didn't actually solve anything. That it only hurt the people who cared about me.

I waited for her to finish.

"I used to have friends," I said. "Other kids, where I was. We'd steal food for each other. When someone got caught, we'd cover for them. Take the punishment instead."

She looked up.

"They're all dead now."

The pen went still.

"There was a fire. The men locked us in a barn and set it. Said we'd outlived our usefulness."

I picked at a loose thread on my sleeve.

"My friend Maya pushed me out a window right before the roof came down."

I stopped.

"She didn't make it out."

Dr. Voss didn't write anything after that. She just watched me.

"I was the lucky one," I said.

That evening, she met with Mom and Dad privately in the study.

I wasn't supposed to be watching.

But I can read lips.

Through the study window I watched her mouth the words—severe trauma, deep-rooted damage, years of conditioning. Mom's shoulders shook. Dad's hands curled into fists.

At breakfast the next morning, Serena was already at the table.

"I heard you talked to the therapist," she said sweetly. "I hope it helped."

Reid poured himself coffee. "Serena felt terrible about what happened."

I looked at Mom. At Dad.

Neither of them said anything.

"It's fine," I said. "It was an accident."

Serena's smile widened.

I smiled back.

She set her fork down. "Oh—the Hendersons are throwing a yacht party this weekend. Very exclusive. You should come, Wren. Meet some people. It'd be good for you."

Reid nodded. "Could be fun."

Mom hesitated. "Maybe it's too soon—"

Serena glanced at me. Just for a second. Something quick and bright in her eyes, there and gone before anyone else could catch it.

"No," I said. "I'll go.