Lightning flashed and thunder rolled, the howling gale driving a torrential rain that lashed like a wild beast, beating a rhythmic tattoo against the tin roof.
Martha’s face twisted with fury as she kicked a pillow across the floor, watching it slam heavily against the stone wall with a dull thud. "That bitch is definitely hiding money!" she hissed through clenched teeth, her voice cutting harshly through the roaring storm.
In a fit of rage, she hurled a moldy blanket onto the ground, her nails digging deep into her palms until pale crescent marks appeared. Ten days ago, she had noticed something deeply unsettling. Luna—that weirdo who always huddled timidly in the corner and spent her boring hours counting ants—had actually pushed her remaining half of a hard, blackened crust of bread toward a coughing Amy during breakfast. In an orphanage where children regularly fought tooth and nail for a single bite of food, this was entirely abnormal.
Chapter 41