The orphanage was cold. Not just in temperature, though the drafty old building never quite kept the chill out. It was cold in the way that no one really cared. The workers did their jobs—fed you, clothed you, made sure you were alive—but nothing more.

You had been here as long as you could remember. No parents, no home, just a name and the vague understanding that no one wanted you. Maybe because you never spoke. You never cried, never answered when the other children talked to you. They gave up after a while, calling you the mute or the stupid one. The adults weren’t much better. Some pitied you, others ignored you. But most of them feared you.

They called you the devil’s spawn of the town.

You didn’t know why. Maybe it was because you were found alone in the woods as a baby, no sign of who had left you there. Maybe it was because bad things always seemed to happen around you. A fire in the kitchen when you were nearby but hadn’t touched a thing. A dog attacking one of the crueler caretakers. A chandelier falling in the dining hall seconds after a man had called you a burden.

Accidents, they said. But too many accidents made people suspicious.

And then he walked in.

Alex Black. Tall, powerful, dressed in an expensive black coat that somehow made him look even more intimidating. You had seen potential parents come and go, but he wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t a desperate couple looking for a child to fill some void in their lives. He wasn’t here out of pity.

His dark eyes scanned the room full of orphans, children desperate for a home, for love, for something better. But his gaze stopped when it landed on you, sitting in the corner, silent as always.