The chores split us up.

  Older kids → barrels.

  Smaller ones → weeds.

  Me? Laundry.

  Garrick was waiting.

  Same boy from earlier.

  The one circling Anna’s scraps.

  He slammed his shoulder into the basket.

  Wet sheets lurched.

  Almost spilled.

  I caught the weight.

  He grinned.

  “What’d you want, pipsqueak? Still hungry after stealin’ Anna’s scraps?”

  I looked at him.

  Face blank.

  Eyes half-lidded.

  First the priest digs in my head.

  Now this roach wants to play guard dog.

  “Move. Unless you want wet sheets in your bed tonight.”

  His smirk tightened.

  “Sharp tongue for someone who can’t reach top shelf.”

  I stared.

  The way you’d watch an insect.

  Just before you decide to crush it.

  Then—footsteps.

  Scuffing the hall.

  A shadow fell across us.

  A nun peeked in.

  Smiled warm.

  “Don’t let him bother you, little one.”

  Her hand brushed my shoulder.

  Then she kept walking.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  My jaw tightened.

  Garrick saw it.

  His smirk widened.

  I shifted the basket higher.

  “Good thing I’m not washing shelves.”

  He stepped aside.

  Barely.

  “Go on then. Don’t trip, twigs.”

  Steam choked the air.

  Soap clung to my throat.

  Two kids scrubbed.

  Silent.

  Laundry duty always made them quiet.

  I liked that.

  I set the basket down.

  Rolled my sleeves.

  Then—

  He crowded close.

  Elbow cracked the basin rim.

  Scalding water burst.

  Splashed my wrists.

  I didn’t move.

  Didn’t flinch.

  I wouldn’t.

  “Wash slower than you talk,” he muttered.

  I sank my hands into the basin.

  Heat stung.

  I left them there anyway.

  Let it burn.

  “I work slower. With a lump of meat breathing down my neck.”

  He grunted.

  I kept going.

  “There used to be a boy in the bunk by the window.”

  I whispered low.

  Quiet enough for the others to pretend not to hear.

  “He said the moon made his dreams bad.

  Made shadows move.”

  “One night, he woke.

  Something breathin' over him.

  Still. Damp.

  Close enough to warm his ear.”

  “He thought it was one of the older boys.

  Until he pulled back.”

  “It didn’t walk away.

  Just stood there.

  Watching.”

  Garrick’s grin twitched.

  “Next morning his bed was empty.

  They found him outside.

  Sitting neat.

  Eyes wide.

  Mouth packed with mud.

  All the way to his teeth.”

  I wrung the shirt.

  Hung it.

  Picked up another.

  “They said maybe he wandered.

  Or maybe someone helped him.

  But I saw it.”

  “His feet.

  Not a speck of dirt.

  Not even a cut.”

  Steam curled against my face.

  “Like he’d been placed there.

  Neatly.

  Just far enough from the window.

  Nobody could hear him breathe.”

  I scrubbed on.

  “You—

  …You talk too much.”

  His laugh cracked.

  As he backed away.

  That was that.

  He shouldn’t cross me for a while.

  My sleeves clung.

  Heavy with damp.

  Still…

  Maybe I’d splash his sheets tonight.

  -

  Magic.

  Gift.

  Whatever they called it.

  Tonight.

  I’d use it.