The nursery Lucinda had prepared was something out of a dream.

Nothing in my whole life had ever been chosen for me before I arrived anywhere — I had always come into rooms that had to be rearranged to make space for me.

But this room, painted a soft twilight blue and filled with hand-carved toys and light, had been waiting.

It had been waiting, in some form, for twenty-eight years.

Chapter 29 — The Rooftop Garden

“I kept the rooftop garden alive for thirty years,” Lucinda told me one evening as we watched Rafferty sleep.