My foster mother always laughed and said it was his reputation for knowing everything that allowed for him to appear infallible: all he had to do was walk through the room and see who looked guiltiest when they saw him. Maybe she was right, but I tried looking innocent the next time, and it didn't work.

I used my history degree about twice a year whether I needed to or not.

Over the years, she'd learned not to question him to closely—mostly because he wouldn't answer her.

If it looks like a hallway, feels like a hallway, and acts like a hallway—is it important to figure out that it isn’t a hallway?

She wondered that hope was so much harder then despair.

She tried to imagine what Charles would do if another man came up to him and said, "You bring me joy.

Charles was most comfortable by himself or, if that wasn't possible, with his pack in the wild. Talking for hours in a crowded auditorium was not on any list of things he enjoyed—or things he was good at. At least no one had died. Yet.