Jackson's POV

The door swung open and in stepped a person.

At first, I froze. My heart thumped so hard I thought it might burst out of my chest. Then I saw her—she was small, about thirteen, I guessed, with long dark hair that fell in tangled waves over her shoulders. She wore a plain, old-fashioned dress—like a servant maid's uniform—black skirt, a white apron, and a simple blouse. Her face was tired, her cheeks hollow, and her eyes were ...