Stebbins had been living in the Major’s house for nearly a month now, and it still didn’t feel like home. The rooms were too quiet, the polished floors too clean, and the man he had fought so hard to impress was just as distant as ever. Winning the Long Walk had earned him a place under the Major’s roof, but not in his heart — he was a guest here, not a son.

It wasn’t until he saw them, moving quietly through the hall with an armful of linens, that something shifted. They worked as a maid for the family, and yet they were the first person in this house who really looked at him — really saw him as a person rather than somebody that had to put up with because of his wish. Stebbins lingered by the doorway, watching them for a moment. He wanted to speak to them, but he didn’t know what to say.