The bombs screamed as they fell. The sound curdled the blood in her veins as Millie ran through the streets of London. Sweat poured off her despite the chill in the autumn air. She didn't dare stop. There were other places to take cover, but she had to make it home. If the worst were to happen, she wanted to be with her family.

The air was already thick with dust, but she could still see the German planes howling overhead, crisscrossing the sky as they pummelled the city below. It was her father's job to inspect the salvaged wreckage, and he said the Germans engineered the bombs to make that shrieking whistle as a way to terrorise them. Psychological warfare, he'd called it.

Her only comfort was that she could hear the bombs at all.

They said that if you could hear their screams, then the bomb wasn't meant for you.

They were wrong.

Gasping and panting, she made it to her street, so close that she could see the yellow-painted front door of her family's row house. Her lungs were burning with every breath, her feet aching in her shoes, and the muscles in her legs begged for rest. But she couldn't stop, not yet, not when she was so close...

The screaming intensified, and then there was a boom. The house next to her was engulfed in a massive ball of flame. Time seemed to slow as the force and heat of it washed over her. All she could see was fire. The earth gave way beneath her feet, and she found herself soaring through the air—

A sharp crack reverberated through the desk.

Millie shot up in her seat. Her hand was numb from where her head had been resting on it, and her dark curls were stuck in the line of drool that ran down her chin. ​​Looming over her was a tiny, withered nun, her heavily wrinkled face fixed into a frightening scowl. In her hand was a yardstick, brandishing it like a weapon as if she might hit Millie with it next.

Knowing Sister Marion, she just might.

"Were we boring you, Miss Mildred?" the haggard old nun snapped, her dark, beady stare boring holes into Millie's soft brown eyes.

"N-Not at all, Sister," Millie said, blinking as she averted her gaze to the desk before her. A small drop of drool had collected on the open page of her bible. She swiped at her face, feeling the heat gathering in her cheeks. Her fingers lingered on the scar trailing along her hairline before she pushed her hair forward to cover it.

"I should hope not," Sister Marion replied, "You are very lucky to be welcomed into such a prestigious school in the midst of war. You would be wise to take advantage of your opportunities."

Welcomed. The corner of Millie's mouth quirked up. She wanted to laugh, but she didn't dare to lest she meet the end of Sister Marion's yardstick.

A murmur travelled through the room. Millie snuck a glance.

Every single student in the room had turned to look at her. They all regarded her with the same cold, disapproving stare as if she was something freshly pulled from the sewers. Millie sank into her seat, hoping the stinging burn now spreading down her neck would set her alight and reduce her to ash.

"Well?" Sister Marion continued. "Will you do your best to take advantage of these classes?"

"I aspire to, Sister," Millie muttered back.

The sister's already present frown deepened, and she narrowed her eyes. She could detect the falseness in Millie's voice.

"I pray for you, Mildred Cunningham," Sister Marion said with a haughty sniff, "I pray for your soul, and I pray you can keep attention for the rest of class."

She gave her desk one last smack with her yardstick and swept away, back up the aisle between the desks.

As Sister Marion made her way back to the front of the room, the rest of her classmates turned away, too, and Millie was alone again. She let out a low, long breath, and settled into her seat, wishing she was anywhere but here.

She hated this place. Wickford Hall. To her, it was hell on Earth.

As Sister Marion reached the front, she began droning on again, Millie did her best to put it all out of her mind and pay attention. It was harder said than done. Literature was usually her favourite subject, but with Sister Marion at the helm, it was drier than plain toast. She preferred their usual teacher, but—

"Psst!" came one of the girls sitting in the row ahead. She prodded her neighbour. "Where's Miss Thomas?"

The neighbour's face tensed. "You didn't hear?"

When the other girl shook her head, her neighbour continued.

"Sister Bess said she was called back to London."

Millie flinched.

Everyone knew what 'called back to London' meant.

A loss in the bombings.

Miss Thomas wasn't going to be back for a while, if at all.

The first girl dipped her head. "Oh. That's awful. She was so—"

They both went still. In unison, they turned, their gazes sliding to Millie as if they had noticed she was listening. Millie stared at the open bible on her desk, pretending she was focussed on the same boring story Sister Marion always used as her teaching material, not at all eavesdropping. Of course, she was, but...

"Let's catch up later," the first girl said, and they returned to their own open books.

Millie wanted to shout at them, but she decided against it. She fought off a shiver. It was icy cold at Wickford, and not just because the house was old and draughty.

She pulled the sleeves of her jumper down, tucking her hands inside, and let her gaze drift to the window next to her. Wickford Hall had once been a grand country house, but its opulence had begun to fade in the century past. The place had fallen into disrepair, and the window next to her was perfect evidence of its current state. The wooden frame had swollen, forcing the sash off-kilter, letting in a nasty draught through the gap.

The scene beyond the window's cracked glass was no better. The sprawling grounds were probably lovely in the spring, but spring was months away. Now the bare trees that lined the long drive sprung out from the earth like clawed hands, reaching up to catch their prey. A heavy fog snaked between them, blotting out the distance so that it felt like Wickford Hall stood alone in the nothingness, far, far away from everything that mattered.

It was, of course, which was the entire reason she was here.

Millie's eyes glazed over as she stared at the blank world beyond. The dense fog made everything feel flat and dull, like what had become of her small, sad life.

Once again, her lids began to droop...

A flicker of movement caught her eye.

She sparked to life again, straightening in her seat.

There was a car on the drive.

Millie leaned closer to the window to try and see through the fog, wondering who it could be. Aside from the ration deliveries that came every Tuesday, they didn't receive many visitors.

But this wasn't Tuesday, and this was no delivery.

A deep green car emerged from the haze, still gleaming even after driving over the miles and miles of muddy roads that led to Wickford. Though Millie knew near-nothing about cars, even she could tell it was expensive, much nicer than the government-issued car her father drove.

The car swung wide and turned, coming to a stop right out front. The driver's door opened, and a tall man in a dark suit stepped out, pulling his hat down low over his eyes.

Two women appeared, a nun and a teacher, rushing out from Wickford's front door to meet him. He ignored their welcomes and went around to the other side of the car. He opened the passenger door and stepped aside like a gentleman. Out of the seat slid a young girl, about the same age as Millie, with pale blonde hair and enough freckles that Millie could see them at a distance.

Yet another daughter exiled to the countryside. A new student.

New students didn't come to Wickford often. They may have been sent here with good intentions, as they all had, but that didn't make Wickford any more welcoming.

Millie watched the pair as the nuns stepped forward to greet them. Now that the girl was out of the car, the man had moved to the boot and was now pulling out luggage. The teachers were trying to usher the girl inside, but she stayed back, lingering beside the car like she wasn't ready to go inside just yet.

She pitied the girl. She was to be the first new student in a long while, and her classmates did not receive newcomers easily.

The girl clung to the man's side as he spoke with the nuns. Her hands were clasped at her stomach, her fingers twisting together, and her face was tense with apprehension.

Millie didn't blame her for it. She remembered being in her very spot, looking up at the sprawling house that was to be her refuge for the next few months. Even though she knew this was all temporary, it still seemed far too long. It had felt as if once she stepped through Wickford's doors, the place would never let her go. If she had known it would be like this, she would've turned and run.

Save yourself, Millie thought at the girl.

As if she had heard her, the girl glanced up. Her gaze fixed on the very window from which Millie was staring down at her. As their eyes met, the girl's worry melted away, and a bright smile broke across her face. She released one hand and gave a little wave.

Millie snapped her head away.

Immediately she regretted her rash action. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. She had no idea why she had recoiled from the girl's friendly greeting like that. Maybe it was because it had been so long since someone had smiled at her, actually smiled at her. And it had felt... unnatural.

It didn't have to be.

Screwing up her courage, Millie turned, ready to return the wave.

But when she looked back, the girl was already gone.