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moving as fast as they could. And your little black shoes, they weren’t made for running—weren’t made for escaping.
    â€œThe ribbon in your hair came undone. It looked so cute that morning, but you thought it was probably lost in the brown and gold of the field. You thought he would trample it as he got closer, smashing it into the mud with his desperate stride.
    â€œThen the tree line disappeared as you squinted, running with all your might. The creek was beyond the trees. If you could make it across the creek…just across the creek!
    â€œThat’s when he got close. You leaned forward, because you feared he was grasping for you. But you lost your balance. You fell, and he was on top of you. You could smell him: his acrid breath, the perspiration in his musty clothes. Then you found you had not lost your ribbon after all; it was only tangled in your hair.
    â€œJasper and I drove you away from there, not wanting you to look back at the field. You didn’t need to see what was left behind.” I pause and wonder if the girl would cry if she could. She only slept for a day here in the cottage.
    Jasper said this was a good place to hide souls while I piece together new bodies for them. It’s where he hid me. Now this place is the closest thing to feeling like home in the Territory, probably because it’s what I knew first.
    When I woke up, I spent a few days listening to Jasper, who came and went at odd hours. The measurement of time became less and less frequent when I found I didn’t need to sleep. It’s only necessary at first to recover from death.
    Jasper explained what he could, at least what I could initially digest. He’d stroke his beard and place his other arm across his substantial belly, recounting his own murder. He also told me about mine, but he never talked about it again unless I asked.
    That’s why I won’t speak of this girl’s demise anymore. Her murder is now hers and hers alone. What she’ll do with that isn’t clear. She has yet to speak let alone react to what I’ve told her. Her mind is still very immature.
    If at first she doesn’t find her ghost, she might choose to join the Fold and help others find theirs. This is the best I can hope for her if she never finds that fleeting image of herself.
    Tonight, it’s just the girl and me, and I’m restless. Before he left, Jasper said this is just the business we’re in, trying to justify it. That doesn’t sit well with me. There’s no consolation in what the Fold has asked me to do. Nothing can replace what’s taken.
    Maybe the mental nausea will subside. This girl is my first, and there may be others before I find my ghost, but for now I’m filled with utter disgust at what I witnessed in the field.
    That filthy old man…why did he do it? His motions continue to replay in my mind, and I can’t shut them off. Every detail is there—the dirt beneath his fingernails, the spittle in the corner of his mouth, the way his face strained and contorted. I’d vomit if I could.
    I thought for sure I could handle it. When Jasper and I first went to seek out a harbinger—the phantom that told us the girl would die—I didn’t lose my composure. When some of the wanderlings followed us to Graehling Station, their little forms didn’t cause me to dwell on the girl. Not until we were in the field did I understand how hard it would be.
    Jasper and I looked on and did nothing to stop it. He said we weren’t allowed to interfere and looked ready to hold me back once or twice. His burly hands would have met their match that afternoon had I not exercised restraint.
    My thoughts return to the girl, and I walk over to kneel beside her. She doesn’t shy away, so I hold her hands in mine and say, “I’m so sorry. I wanted to do something…to stop him. You didn’t deserve this.”
    She doesn’t respond and looks