: M

pace for what felt like hours

ll that every breath I took brushed against the boy's chest, every slight movement pres

imagined this. That

ourth floor. The sound echoed through the building, followed by

y started to pull away from our hiding spot. The boy followed my

ook at him in the light. He was staring at me with the same in

at to do next. How did you talk to someone when neither of you could speak? How did you

was going to say something, then closed again when nothing came ou

My eyes widened. Of course. Writing. The woman had taught me to read and write

a blank page and wrote something q

are

cil from him with shaking hands. My handwriting was messier than his,

know. Wh

thing like relief crossed

ing estate on the western side of the pack. I

the pen

t name. I live here at the school.

de when he read tha

ace. We're connected somehow. I've felt like part o

s again as I nodded

le in my chest where something should be. It got worse this wee

twin. That we were separated as babies. When our hands to

led as I wrot

eads. Silver cloth. Water everywhere. Your hand

s face crumpled with emot

. I found you. We

right. After eight years of being incomplete, of feeling like half

woman who'd found me in the river, who'd loved me and protected me until she died. About the headmaster who

e cold woman named Vivienne who hated him. About living in a mansion and having tutors

e I'd grown up in poverty and abuse. But underneath those differences, we were the same. Bo

sed to be someone else there but they were gone. Now I know why

mply, because what e

d the window. The sky outside was starting to lighten with the fir

hey notice I'm gone, there will be too many questions

life to go back to, a family waiting for him. And I had... this. A

sion and grabbed t

. We just found each other

t to sound desperate eve

k? After midnight?

Of course yes. I'd do whate

catches me? I wrote,

with determination be

ing you here alone anymore. We're supposed to be togeth

ot the pulling sensation that had brought him here

he notepad and h

read it until next week, write everythi

thing I'd ever been given. Because it was. It was proof that he

ood there in the growing dawn light, two eight-year-o

ulled me

ce. But his arms around me felt nothing like the headmaster's angry shov

like com

for several long moments, we just held each o

were suspiciously bright. He pic

ck. I promis

oom door. He paused in the doorway and looked back

isappearing into th

otepad he'd given me and touching my chest wh

ut more like a stretched connection. Like a rope tying me to something p

e in my life, I f