Gasping for breath, Millie pushed herself to keep running. Her whole body ached, but she forced herself forward. Dust stuck to the rivulets of sweat that ran down her face. She was desperate to make it home.

The sirens howled as she skidded onto her street. She stumbled, almost falling, but caught herself just in time. She was almost there. The yellow front door of her house burned bright, like a beacon in the haze of destruction. The door was open. Someone was on the front step, stretching their hand out, beckoning her closer. Her older sister, Olivia. Olivia had always been the beautiful one, with her thick, dark curls and full, cupid's-bow lips. Only now, her pretty lips were pulled back over her teeth, her mouth stretched wide in a scream.

"MILLIE!" she cried.

A burst of fire swelled up, blotting her sister from view. The force of the blast slammed into her, and Millie felt herself go flying—

Jolting awake, Millie clamped her hand over her mouth to suppress the scream rising in her throat. Her heart thudded in her chest, and her nightdress clung to her, soaked through with sweat. It took a second for her pulse to slow and for her senses to return. She wasn't in London. She was in her dorm at Wickford. The German bombs were far away.

She was safe.

She released a slow breath...

It had all been another nightmare. Another nightmare forged out of her worst memories.

Millie rolled over at the other bed across the room that Petra had claimed for her own. Her new roommate was still sleeping and sleeping soundly. Her eyes were closed, her lashes fluttering as she dreamed, a smile playing at her lips. Whatever her dreams were, they seemed much sweeter than Millie's own.

After watching her to make sure she didn't wake, Millie gave a sigh of relief. At least she had caught her scream. If Petra had heard her, she was bound to ask why, and she didn't want to burden Petra with her problems. Plus, losing sleep was a good way to make her new roommate—and tenuous new friend—hate her.

Rolling over onto her back, Millie tried to settle again, hoping to slip into a more peaceful sleep... But as she tried to relax, her eyes caught on something in the dark.

There was someone lurking, staring at her, from the corner of the room.

Her sweat went cold, and her body stiffened.

This was no stranger watching.

She knew the person who was watching her.

The figure stepped out from the shadows, inching closer. Her tangled curls were flattened and matted in the thick stream of blood that ran down the side of her face. She had dark, deadened eyes, and her all too familiar face was twisted into a vicious sneer as if her brutal injuries were all Millie's fault.

In a way, they were—because the figure was Millie.

It was a mirror version of herself, a replica of the girl that had been freshly pulled from the rubble after the bomb hit. The wound that had made the scar on Millie's face was fresh, open and weeping blood. Her hair was still long, singed, as it had been before they had to cut out the burnt parts.

The mirror-version crept forward, closer and closer to her bedside. Millie wanted to pull away, to leap up and run, but she was frozen in place. She tried her hardest to bend her fingers, to wiggle her toes, to move any part of her body. But it didn't work. It was no use.

She was stuck.

As the replica reached the edge of her bed, she stared down at her with empty, hateful eyes. Then she raised her arm and stretched it out, reaching with bloody fingers for Millie's face.

On the other side of the room, Petra gave a great sigh. She flopped over in bed, the mattress squealing beneath her. Millie glanced over, able to only move her eyes, a soundless beg for help.

But Petra didn't wake...

It didn't matter. As Millie looked back, she found herself alone.

And, to her relief, she could move again.

Millie lurched up in bed, her breathing ragged now as if she had been holding her breath the whole time. Adrenaline surged through her veins, making her heart race.

It would be impossible to fall back asleep now.

As quiet as possible, Millie pulled back her covers and swung her legs out of bed. As she stood, she kept a careful eye on Petra, ready to abandon her plan the second her new roommate was disturbed. But Petra stayed asleep, her face gentle as an angel's, so Millie continued on, going to the little writing desk that had been pushed up against the large window that looked over Wickford's gardens.

She sat down and flicked on the small desk lamp. They weren't allowed to use their lights, but the weak lamp gave off barely any light, so Millie wasn't worried.

She pulled out a fresh sheath of paper and began to write.

Jan 1941

Dear Olivia,

How are you? I miss you terribly.

I hope you're getting my letters. I haven't gotten any of yours. Apparently, mail is slow to reach Wickford, and the war has only made it worse. I imagine you haven't had time to send many letters, anyway. You're probably run ragged at the hospital. Have you seen much action as a nurse, or are you still in training?

I think of you there, running the halls, patching wounds, soothing soldiers, and I'm jealous. It's stupid. I'm sure it is hard work, but it must be noble. And at least you're doing real work, contributing to the effort, while I'm trapped out here, living this useless existence—

Millie paused and slashed out the last line. Her sister was doing important work for their country, and she didn't need to hear more of her griping. Her previous letters had enough of that. She continued below.

I'm still cross with mother and father, as I'm sure they are with me. Our last argument still stings. I haven't received any letters from them, but that also might be because of the war. Or maybe they hate me now. Who knows.

As for me, Wickford is awful, as always. The other girls are still ignoring me. But I have a new roommate. Her name is Petra. She's been nice so far, but we'll see.

I miss you. Write soon, or I'll go crazy.

All my love,

Millie

Behind her, something gave a groan. Millie spun around. Petra was stirring again, a bit more restless. Millie reached to shut off the light, twisting the switch—

But just as the light turned off, she caught a glimpse of her again—the replica, back again. When Millie's eyes adjusted to the dark, the twisted version of herself was gone.

The next day, as she stepped into Wickford's office, Millie rubbed at her eyes and fought off a yawn. She was there to send off her latest letter to her sister, addressed to St Thomas Hospital. That was where her sister was staying while she trained as a nurse for the war effort. It was grisly work, from all accounts, but still, Millie burned with jealousy. She'd give anything to be of use, to be anywhere but Wickford.

The secretary smiled at her as she slid the letter into the mail outbox. Millie gave her a small smile back before turning to the cubbies to check for mail—

She gave a small scream.

Petra had been standing right behind her.

"You scared me half to death!" Millie cried, pressing her hand to her chest. She could feel her thudding heart beneath her palm. "Why in God's name did you sneak up on me like that?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to," Petra said with a shrug, looking perfectly innocent. "I just came to tell you that supposed to give me a tour."

Millie blinked back at her. "I am?"

"The Headmistress said so," Petra said, nodding towards the private offices.

Millie glanced that way also, expecting someone to march out and give her orders. No one did.

"W-Well, okay," she conceded. "But I was going to get some lunch first—"

"Don't worry! We're already set," Petra said, digging into her pockets that Millie now noticed were bulging. Petra produced two wax-wrapped sandwiches and examined them. "Do you want egg salad or... uh, not egg salad?"

Millie paused. "Uh, egg salad. Please."

Petra handed it over without complaint, tucking the other back into her pocket. Then she danced to Millie's side and hooked her arm with hers, pulling her close so she couldn't get away. Millie stiffened, surprised by Petra's ready familiarity. The girl seemed the type to make fast friends, and Millie wasn't going to complain.

She needed a friend.

"Shall we?" Petra giggled before dragging Millie out of the office and off into the school.