I was shoulder to shoulder with the other girls as we were hustled away from the orangery.

A small voice spoke up from beside me.

“My name is May.” It was the brunette girl who had refused to even look at me.

I threw her a cautious smile. “Hi, May.”

May and Skye. I didn’t know if those were the girls’ real names or if they’d been given to them at some point while they’d been held captive and instructed to never speak their real names again.

But just that tiny amount of connection gave all of us hope. There might be ‘them’ but there was an ‘us,’ too. Even if we couldn’t help each other physically, we were stronger together, knowing there were others who were in the same position. People who understood.

And sometimes, that was all we needed.