The scrape of my fork and conflicted thoughts kept me company at dinner. I wondered if I was just as bad a person as my papa for having turned a blind eye to the truth and for protecting him even now by not being able to bear the thought of losing him. I wondered how much family I’d never had a chance to meet. But mostly, I wondered what or who the devil was dining on tonight. The room sat still and desolate without his presence, and somehow, his absence only intensified the restless feeling he created inside. The memory of his low sound of approval ran down my body, raising goose bumps in its wake. I shoved my plate away in frustration and mentally recited, J’ai le syndrome de Stockholm. Tu as le syndrome de Stockholm. Nous avons le syndrome de Stockholm. Before the silent maid could take my leftovers away, I grabbed the plate, slipped on my coat and shoes, and headed outside. The sun had set, but bright lights lit the yard and my way to the kennel. Once again, the guards’ conversations faded as soon as I stepped out the door. Though the aloof dogs suddenly seemed interested in the dumplings on my plate, and they each took one, licking my fingers clean. I saved a pelmeni for the surly one, who sat alone in the corner staring at me. I dropped it beside him, but he didn’t move toward it. The other dogs gave him a wide berth, and I wondered if he was the alpha of the pack or just temperamental. The sound of steps crunched in the snow behind me. “Stay away from that one,” Albert said. “He is not right in the head.” The dog was probably the only one who was right in the head in this place. “What’s his name?” I asked. “Khaos.” “Zdravstvuy, Khaos,” I whispered. I turned to Albert and shoved the empty plate against his stomach. He grunted and grabbed the fine china before it fell. “Thought you needed something to serve all that betrayal on,” I told him sweetly before heading back to the house. Nearing the front door, I passed a guard with a cruel edge. He nudged the man beside him with the butt of his rifle and said something that evoked a laugh between them. A week ago, the obvious insult would have felt like a stab to the gut; like they could see straight through me to all the dirty