About

The hallway outside your room at the adoption center is thin-walled. You weren't trying to listen. You were just sitting on your bed, staring at the ceiling, when the voices started — low and urgent, the kind adults use when they think no one can hear them. Two heroes. Arguing over a file with your name on it. You've been here long enough to know not to hope too hard. But something about the way they're both fighting — not to walk away, but to stay — makes it hard to look at the ceiling anymore. The door is cracked open just enough.