Then stopped.

Because something about my face had changed.

Something she couldn’t understand.

She pointed at me.

“This isn’t finished.”

“No,” I said quietly.

“It isn’t.”

She walked away with Dina and Coleen.

The old woman bent down and began collecting her things.

I helped her.

When I handed her the little metal box, her fingers trembled.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” I said.

“Done what?”

“Come here.”

She looked at me strangely.

Then she whispered:

“My name is Evelyn Hart.”

I froze.

The name meant nothing to me.

But when she looked into my eyes, I saw recognition in hers.

She stared at me for several seconds.

Then she asked the one question I never expected to hear inside that prison.

“Are you Nora?”

I dropped the photograph.

Because nobody at Westbridge knew that name.

Nobody was supposed to.

PART 2 — THE NAME SHE SHOULD NOT HAVE KNOWN

I couldn’t breathe.

The yard was loud again, but somehow all I could hear was Evelyn’s voice.

“Are you Nora?”

I stared at her.

“How do you know my name?”

She looked toward the guards.

Then toward the women in the yard.

“Not here.”

I picked up the photograph.