The guest room was quiet. Most of the curtains were drawn, leaving only a thin gap that let in a sliver of pale gray light. Cathy lay on the soft bed, the blanket pulled up to her chest, her breathing gradually evening out.She dreamed.Nothing was clear. The images seemed soaked in water—blurred, distorted, flashing one after another. She saw a gate. Tall, heavy, old-fashioned, with withered vines climbing the pillars. She wanted to walk toward it, but there was no road under her feet. No matter how she tried, she couldn't reach it.Then a pair of hands. Large hands, lifting her up. The person holding her was tall—she could only see his chest, where a badge was pinned. She tried to look up at his face, but her neck felt pinned down, as if something were pressing on it. The badge swayed before her eyes, closer and closer, clearer and clearer, then shattered into countless pieces.The scene shifted. The orphanage. Gray walls, iron fences, a fountain. Old Mr. Langley sat by the fountain
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