Baruch had ripped the school's front door off its hinges. He clutched it so hard that the wood warped and splintered. Ms. Clara was speaking softly to him about Grigory, but when she saw me, she motioned for me to use another entrance.

I asked around until I was directed to the makeshift morgue that Rohan helped Elena set up in the industrial pantry in the basement. Metal shelving racks were stacked with dry goods, toilet paper, and soaps, courtesy of Ms. Clara's efficiency. ...