The one window was high up and grimy, situated between the eaves. Ollie doubted it let in much light.
He was overwhelmed with a feeling of both claustrophobia and sadness. The heat was already causing a line of sweat to form at his hairline.
But he didn’t see a little girl. At least until he heard a toilet flush and the door at the back of the room open. Framed in the open doorway stood the most beautiful child Ollie had ever seen. The word cinnamon came to mind as he met her dark-eyed and somber gaze. Her hair was deep red and in tight little curls; her skin was the color of creamy hot chocolate, perfectly complementing her brown eyes, which were so dark the irises appeared to have swallowed up her pupils. A constellation of cinnamon colored freckles spread across her nose and cheeks. Her lips were full, but right now were thinned in a line that Ollie could only imagine was fury.