“If you want,” Sky added quickly.
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Eloin’s mouth.
“I do,” she said. “I really do.”
“Can I braid your hair?” Sky asked. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”
Eloin looked scared, but she nodded.
Sky sat behind her and began to part the remaining hair carefully, fingers practiced and sure. At first, it felt normal—just another Sunday morning braiding her little cousin’s hair back home.
Then her fingertips brushed something cold and hard under the strands.
Sky froze.
“Elo,” she said softly. “There’s something in your hair.”
Eloin flinched.
“Please don’t tell,” she whispered. “I’m not supposed to know.”
“Know what?”
“That it’s my fault,” Eloin said, voice cracking. “That if I were better, she wouldn’t have to do this.”
Sky’s chest hurt.
“Elo, this isn’t your fault,” she said.
Before she could say more, Miss Calva’s voice cut through the air like a blade.
“What are you touching?”
Miss Calva crossed the room in three long strides and grabbed Eloin’s arm—not hard enough to leave bruises, but firm enough to make the girl wince.
“Come with me,” she said.
“Wait,” Sky protested. “She didn’t do anything.”
“You need to leave,” Miss Calva said coldly. “Now.”