A year and a half earlier, I had arrived at an enormous house and noticed a strange smell that everyone else was trained to overlook.

It had led us toward an ugly truth, but not because I possessed some miraculous gift.

I had simply asked a question and refused to accept that a child’s suffering was too inconvenient to investigate.

The boys called me from the top of the stairs.

They wanted to know whether I would join them for the last chapter.

I went inside.

Kenneth was sitting between them, holding the book open.