After the assembly, Millie and Petra followed the flow of people back to the dorms to drop off their things before dinner. Petra had gone quiet, staring off into space as she walked alongside Millie. Usually, she chattered away, but her uncharacteristic quiet unsettled Millie, and she wasn't sure what to do with it.

"Do you think he's telling the truth?" Millie asked to fill the void.

Petra jolted like she had been startled out of a dream. "Huh?"

Millie tilted her head in question. "Where did you go off to?"

"Nowhere," Petra replied, almost sharp. "What were you talking about?"

"About what the deacon said—that it's his responsibility to ensure we have 'everything we need to thrive' here. Does that mean he'll run errands for us?" Millie punctuated it with a giggle, hoping Petra found it all rather funny, too.

She didn't. Her friend just stared at her. "I doubt it."

A sinking hole opened up in Millie's chest. Why was Petra being so cold? Had she said, or done, something to make her upset? Millie resisted the urge to pepper Petra with questions, knowing that would only make it worse. Instead, she waited for Petra to say something. But her friend only retreated again, sinking back into her thoughts, far away from Millie.

A flutter of panic began to beat in time with Millie's heart.

"Do you want to sneak out again tonight?" she offered with a shaking voice.

Petra shook her head. "I don't think so."

The flutter turned into a thrum. Millie tried to stifle it, to little success.

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

Back in their dorm, Petra tossed her things on her bed with barely a glance, before turning back to the door.

"Where are you going? We need to head down for dinner."

"I have to go do something."

"Do... Do you want me to come with you?" Millie asked, her voice small.

Petra paused, already halfway out the door. She glanced back at Millie, her pale eyes guarded. "No, it's nothing important."

"What about dinner?" Millie added. She hated how she sounded so... desperate. Something cold twisted in her stomach. Had Petra changed her mind about her?

"Go down without me," Petra said, emotionless. "I won't be long."

She disappeared into the hall.

Millie's eyes began to sting as they welled with tears. Squeezing her eyes shut, she swiped at them and shook her head. She tried to convince herself that this was an overreaction, that this was nothing, that Petra's change in mood had nothing to do with her, but nothing helped. She couldn't shake the feeling that Petra was slipping away and soon she would be left on her own, alone again.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't go back to how it was before—when she had no one and nothing.

She wouldn't survive it, she was sure.

Trembling, Millie dropped her things on the writing desk and dug out her sister's letter, still tucked into the back of her bible. If she was saving it until she needed it, then this seemed as good a moment as any. With shaking fingers, she tore into the envelope and freed the single slip of paper, dropping herself down into the chair to read it.

Dear Millie,

I hope you're well. Sorry I haven't written much. St. Thomas' has been hell. They work us to the bone every day, and at the end of it all, I can only collapse into bed. It's madness, but rewarding. Here, I feel like I'm actually making a difference.

I'm sorry Wickford has been so horrible. I know you didn't want to go. I haven't seen much of mother and father. It's been too busy. Maybe next time I see them, I can convince them to let you come back to London. You may be young, but the war effort needs all the help they can get, and I know you have it in you.

Please keep writing, even if I don't get the chance to reply as often as I'd like. Your letters give me strength.

I miss you.

Liv

Millie let out a shuddering sigh and pressed the letter to her chest. There was so little to it, but it was more than she could've hoped for. It warmed her through, almost enough to chase back the chill Petra had left, though not quite. Millie looked back at the door, wondering how long Petra would be.

If she had time to kill, she might as well get started on her response. Her sister had asked for more letters to sustain her. Seeing as her sister was actually contributing to the war effort, it was the least Millie could do.

She pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and began to scratch away with her pen.

Dear Liv, Millie began.

I'm so glad to hear from you and to hear you're okay. I was starting to worry. I only just got your letter. I don't blame you for not writing, it sounds like your training is relentless. Still, I am jealous. Fortunately, Wickford hasn't been too bad. It is still dreary, but at least I'm not alone anymore. My new roommate Petra is...

Millie stopped. Could she still say she wasn't alone? She looked again at the door, wondering about her absent friend.

Were they still friends?

Were they ever?

Just as she was about to scratch out the last line, the door creaked open, and Petra stepped through. And to Millie's relief, Petra was smiling—back to her old self.

"What are you still doing here?" Petra asked, raising her eyebrow at the sight of Millie at the desk. "I thought I told you I'd meet you downstairs for dinner."

"I w-was about to go," Millie sputtered. "I just wanted to write a little letter first."

"Well, leave it for now," Petra said, waving it off. "Come on, I'm hungry!"

"Can I finish?" Millie asked. "I'm almost done. I'll be quick, I promise."

"Alright, alright," Petra leaned against the door frame, tapping her foot as she waited. "Hurry up, then."

Millie returned to her letter, her writing turning into a scrawl as she hurried through the final lines.

...Petra is wonderful. It's so nice to finally have a friend. I don't know what I'd do without her. You'd like her, I think, if you met.

I'll write more soon, promise. Miss you.

Millie

Millie signed her name with a flourish before leaping up from the desk. She left the letter on the desk in the last dying light of day as she chased Petra into the hall.

A scream ripped from her throat. Millie shot up in bed, drenched in sweat. She slapped her hand over her mouth, though it was far too late.

She turned, looking over to Petra to see if she'd woken her.

The night was dark and deep, the moon outside their window covered by thick clouds. What light made it through was thin, but just enough to see Petra's bed...

Empty.

Petra was gone. The covers were rumpled as if they had been thrown off in a rush to leave.

"Petra?" Millie whispered into the darkness.

There was no response.

Millie squinted into the darkness, to see if her friend was lurking somewhere in the darkness. Outside, the clouds shifted, letting a little more light through, just enough for Millie to see that she was alone in the room, before the moon was swallowed up again.

Millie reached for her side table, searching for her lamp. She pulled at the chain, but it did not turn on.

"What...?" Millie mumbled, then remembered that using the lights after dark was forbidden, and the nuns often turned the power off at the breaker to ensure the rule was followed.

She moved then to the drawer, looking for her torch. Pulling it out, she pressed its button with high hopes, but the torch only gave a weak flicker before dying out.

"For God's sake," she muttered, smacking at it. "I just changed the batteries! How could they be drained already?"

The torch did not answer and did not turn on.

Abandoning the torch, Millie threw off her own covers and slid out of bed. Her nightgown clung to her, slick with her sweat. She tugged at it, peeling it off her skin as she crossed the room and headed for the door.

Pulling it open, she poked her head out. The hall was even darker, lit only by the windows at each far end.

"Petra?" Millie called out, keeping her voice as low as she could.

She listened hard for a response, or to see if she could locate Petra by sound alone—the running of water in the washrooms, or her steps down the hall as she returned to their room.

But the hall was silent as death.

No, not quite silent...

In the distance, there was the softest shuffling, like small prey rustling in the grass.

"Petra?" Millie called again.

The shuffling intensified, accompanied by a low moan. It was guttural, like a dying animal...

A shiver climbed up Millie's back.

Was that her? she wondered. Maybe Petra had become sick in the night. Maybe their dinner hadn't agreed with her, and she tried to make it to the WC on her own, but couldn't make it back. Maybe her friend needed her help.

Millie's heart began to race at the idea of Petra, sick, stranded, and in need. But the deep darkness of the hall was daunting, as if the moment she stepped into it, it might devour her. But as the low moaning continued, calling to her, Millie knew she had to do something.

Choking back her fears, she stepped into the hall.

Once she was in it, the darkness seemed all the worse. Even with the dim shapes of the windows at either end, the darkness felt endless, like she might never find her way back. Millie had to press her hand to the wall to be sure she was heading in the right direction.

She followed the sounds of the moans, inching down the hall.

"Petra, is that you?" she whispered.

The moans continued. They were growing louder, closer. As she neared, they almost sounded like gagging.

The wall gave way, cutting off suddenly. Millie stumbled in the darkness, and her foot caught on something, pulling her down. She fell forward, but the floor did not come up to meet her. Instead, she hit a sharp angle, then another, then another—the stairs.

Millie gave a cry as she tumbled down the stairs, each step digging into her. Something heavy slammed into her. Whatever her foot had caught had come with her as she fell. They twisted together until they landed hard at the bottom.

Even in the darkness, Millie could see bright spots dancing in her eyes. The heavy thing landed on top of her, knocking the wind from her. Weak and wounded, she struggled to push off the heavy weight, but it was no use. Whatever it was, it was slippery, and... wet.

Outside the windows of the foyer, the clouds pulled back once more, finally allowing the moon to shine. Light flooded into the hall, casting upon Millie. She looked down at her hands, at the strange wetness that clung to her skin.

Blood.

She was drenched in blood and not her own.

A corpse lay across her chest.

Adrenaline shot through her veins, finally giving her the strength to detangle herself from the body. She shoved it off, and it flopped back, red-stained blonde splaying out around its splattered face.

Petra.

Her nightgown was soaked in red, spilling down her front—from her throat. All that was left of that tender flesh was an open, ragged gash.

She was gone. Her pale eyes were empty and unseeing, and all Millie could do was scream.