Night in the orphanage is never quiet.
It pretends to be.
The lights go out at exactly nine. The hallway bulb flickers twice before dying completely, leaving only the faint glow from the chapel's red candle bleeding under the doors.
That's when the whispers begin.
I lay on my thin mattress, staring at the ceiling. My cheek still throbbed from the slap earlier. When I touched it gently, pain bloomed under my fingers.
Across the room, someone was crying softly.
No one asked who.
Crying is as common as breathing here.
"You should put ice on that."
I turned.
Aria was sitting up in her bed, her long braids falling over one shoulder. Even in the dark, her eyes seemed awake — too awake.
"It's fine," I said.
"It's not," she replied.
She stood up and crossed the room quietly, careful not to wake the others. From inside her small metal box, she brought out a cloth and wrapped something inside it.
Ice.
"How did you even get that?" I whispered.
She smiled.
Aria always smiles instead of answering.
She pressed the cloth gently to my cheek. The cold made me suck in a breath.
"Does it hurt?" she asked softly.
"Yes."
"Good."
I frowned. "Good?"
She leaned closer. "Pain reminds you that you're still alive, Taya."
There was something in her voice tonight — something heavier than usual.
The door creaked open.
Both of us froze.
Footsteps passed in the corridor.
Slow.
Measured.
Not Sister Perry's sharp heels.
Not Sister Catherine's dragging sandals.
This was different.
Aria's fingers tightened around the cloth on my cheek.
"Don't move," she whispered.
The footsteps stopped outside our door.
My heart began pounding so loudly I was sure whoever was out there could hear it.
A shadow lingered under the crack of the door.
Then silence.
Then the footsteps continued.
I released the breath I didn't realize I was holding.
"Who was that?" I asked.
Aria didn't answer immediately.
"Someone who doesn't sleep," she said finally.
"That doesn't make sense."
"Not everything has to."
The next morning, one of the younger girls was gone.
Her bed was neatly made.
Her locker empty.
No announcement.
No explanation.
When I asked Sister Perry where she was, she looked at me like I had committed a crime.
"Transferred," she said shortly.
"But she didn't say goodbye—"
SLAP.
This time, I didn't even see it coming.
"Stop asking questions that don't concern you," she hissed.
My ears rang.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Aria watching.
Not shocked.
Not angry.
Just watching.
Like she already knew.
Later that afternoon, while scrubbing the chapel floor, Aria leaned close and whispered:
"You need to stop drawing attention to yourself."
"I just asked about her."
"And that's the problem."
She dipped her brush into the bucket.
"They're not transferring anyone, Taya."
My stomach dropped.
"What do you mean?"
She looked toward the confession booth to make sure no one was listening.
"They're being chosen."
The word echoed in my head.
Chosen.
"For what?" I whispered.
Aria met my eyes.
And for the first time since I met her… she didn't smile.
"That," she said quietly, "is what I'm trying to find out."