Saturday morning began, as usual, with the chiming of bells. The Nest of Angels was especially noisy today. Of course, after all, it was on this day of the week that the orphanage's doors were opened to all potential "parents." Adult strangers came, played with children, smiled, hugged - it's all so fake. Feigned concern, feigned tenderness. Aiden grunts and pulls on his headphones.

Running away like this has already become the norm for him: he hides here, on the windowsill of the second floor near the library, watches what is happening below and listens to music. He had never been caught by the babysitters, called "big sisters" here, which was not too surprising: they were too busy with the guests. Aiden saw no point in participating in this overplayed play, because children over thirteen are not chosen, and he was already fifteen.

He leans back, resting the back of his head against the window frame, closes his eyes, listening to a pleasant voice in his headphones.

"Come as you are, as you were" — he repeats the words of the song in a low voice, as if fearing that he will be heard.