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I turned to Jolie Auclair. It was the first time I’d heard her speak. She was standing in the office doorway, peeking inside the forbidden space. I had been so careful. I was listening out for footsteps. She must’ve glided.

I blinked.

“I’m not allowed to talk to you,” I finally uttered.

“Who said that?” she asked boldly, her chin jutting up.

“Your brother. Clement.”

“And you’re not allowed in Father’s office, but here you are,” she retorted. “You’re breaking that rule.”

I was surprised by her sassiness and by her confidence. She was younger, and a girl at that, but she was unafraid to snap back at me.

“I’m doing something important,” I told her.

She took a step in. I could tell from her uncertainty that she had also been told never to come inside this space.

“What is it?” she questioned, standing on her toes to look at the computer screen.

“I’m not going to tell you.”

Jolie rolled her eyes.

“That’s stupid.”

“Why are you up in the middle of the night?” I asked her.

Jolie shrugged and looked down at the floor.

“I get night terrors,” she said. And then, quietly, she added, “I heard you.”

“Oh.”

“Do you get night terrors?”

I paused.

“You need to sleep to get those,” I replied.

“And you don’t sleep?”

I didn’t say a thing.

Jolie took another step toward me, and then another step. Until she was standing by my side, staring at the computer.

“Who are they?” she asked, nodding at the two smiling people on the screen.

“My parents.”

“They’re the ones who died?”

“Yes.”

“They were murdered?”

“Yes.”

“Are you okay?”