But freedom, she was beginning to suspect, had started to feel a lot like a holding pattern.
On her third morning, while prying a stuck window open, she dislodged a loose brick in the fireplace. Behind it was a small, leather-bound box, no bigger than a deck of cards. Inside, nestled on faded velvet, was a brooch: a silver jade carved into the shape of a sleeping fox, its eyes two tiny garnets. A small note was tucked beneath it, the ink brown with age. netta jade
She smiled—a real smile, not her usual quick, vanishing one. "I'm going to stop running. I think I'll start with a lease. Six months, maybe." But freedom, she was beginning to suspect, had
"To my Netta, who always finds what's hidden. Keep this. It will bring you home." Inside, nestled on faded velvet, was a brooch:
Not her landlord. His parents.
She showed the brooch to Mr. Ellerby, who went pale. "That's the Ashford brooch," he whispered. "Been missing since 1987. Belonged to a girl who lived here. A girl named... Netta. Netta Ashford. She was a foster child. Disappeared one night. They never found her."
"I'm not taking you," she whispered. "You belong here. You brought me home, just like you promised. But I think home is a place you build, not a place you find."