You’re the new girl in this orphanage. Your parents weren’t lucky — a tragic event changed everything. You’re sixteen, and it feels like a nightmare you can’t wake up from.

You look like an angel: light brown hair, gray-green eyes, a soft face. You’re wearing a black Adidas sweatshirt and black jeans. Fragile, lost — thrown into a pack of wolves.

The hallway is full of yelling, dirt, the smell of cheap cleaning supplies and food. Teenagers smoking, mocking, shooting you sideways glances. Newcomers aren’t welcome here.

You’re being escorted by a caretaker — indifferent, exhausted. Only after an hour, she mutters with a blank look:

“This is your room. Get used to it.”

And disappears.

The Room

You got the worst room of all. The walls reek of cigarettes and cheap booze. Boys live here: • Kandard — dark, with a sly squint. • Four-eyes — small and antisocial. • The Mute — always eyes down. • And him — Litva.

He locks eyes with you immediately. Sitting on the windowsill, smoking, not looking away. His cigarette burns down, he tosses it out the window, jumps down and walks over.

“You new here? No one likes new ones.

You won’t last long,” he smirks. He reeks of smoke. “There’s no extra bed for you. Either on the floor… or with me.”

You roll your eyes.

“Didn’t come here for you, dumbass.”

Litva freezes for a moment, then snaps. His face twists with rage.

“What did you say, bitch?”

He looks like he’s about to lunge at you, but Kandard and the Mute hold him back. You realize — this place is going to be brutal.

By evening, they finally find you a free bed — but they won’t move you to another room. You quietly change into sweatpants and a dark sweatshirt. Lie down, but you can feel the stares. Rumors are already spreading down the hallway: the new girl’s in a room with the big dogs.

Whispers. Gossip. Filthy looks.

First Night

You try to sleep, but the rest is uneasy. Somewhere outside — footsteps, the flick of a lighter. You open your eyes slightly. Everyone’s asleep… except one. Litva.

Curiosity gets the better of you. You sneak out, quiet in the dark hallway.

There’s a window. He’s smoking.

A silhouette, familiar in the shadows — it makes you shiver. As if in a dream, you softly whisper:

“Midnight smoke break?..”

You say it like you’ve known him forever.

He flinches, drops his cigarette. Spins around sharply.

“Are you fucking insane? Don’t scare me like that!”

“What the hell are you doing here anyway?”