The next victim, who died due to an unfortunate incident, was a case of death that occurred when Zoe was transferred to another reformatory near the city of Wales at the age of sixteen. The ill-fated person was named Finn, the leader of a group that specialized in bullying younger kids and stealing the gifts left behind by their visiting families. Every gift sent by family members to the reformatory was taken by Finn’s gang. Finn, however, was just an ordinary child like any other, accused of involuntary manslaughter at the age of twelve, a consequence of domestic violence.
Finn was often beaten by his stepfather, but he never wanted to fight back because he thought of his mother. Finn’s mother was a pitiful woman, abandoned by his biological father when she was pregnant with him. When Finn turned six, she remarried. Over the six years of living together, countless times Finn was brutally beaten by his stepfather, but this time the one who had to suffer was his mother. The alcoholic stepfather, enraged after losing at gambling, kicked his wife in the stomach in a drunken fury.
 Finn held onto his mother, who clutched her swollen belly in pain, as blood streamed down her legs, soaking the floor. By the time the ambulance arrived, she had lost consciousness. Not only had she miscarried, but due to excessive blood loss, she died en route to the hospital.
Finn watched as his mother’s body stiffened, her once round belly now equally rigid. His anger surged, but he suppressed it, not shedding a single tear. When he returned home, he found his stepfather continuing to drink, oblivious to the fact that Finn’s mother and unborn sibling had just been killed by him hours earlier. Finn stood before his stepfather, informing him that his mother and sibling were dead. The stepfather merely laughed, shaking his head as he uttered a vile remark.
"Well, that's probably for the best. If life is this miserable, what's the point of living?" He pointed a finger at Finn. "You should go join your mother too."
Finn said nothing. He walked straight to the kitchen, grabbed a knife from the counter, and returned to where his stepfather was lounging on the sofa, stabbing him swiftly. The man’s eyes bulged as he stared at Finn in disbelief. Finn, too, stared back, calmly uttering, "Then you should go join them."
Pulling the knife from the man’s body, Finn sat silently in the room, not knowing what to do next. Who in this world cared about his life or death, or even his existence? Even if he managed to escape the police, he would still need to find food to survive, and wandering aimlessly would eventually lead to his capture. So, Finn decided to surrender to the police, handing over the knife and confessing to the murder. He was subsequently sent to the Wales Reformatory for minors on the charge of manslaughter.
The moment Zoe was taken to Wales and met Finn for the first time, the gang leader looked at Zoe as if he had never seen someone who had never known suffering in life. Finn despised Zoe because after being confined for so long in a place filled with crime, Finn’s heart had completely twisted. He wanted to make Zoe taste the bitterness of life. Every time Zoe received a gift from someone outside, Finn’s gang would immediately seize it. Zoe didn’t want to fight them—he didn’t need the gifts. What mattered to him was who had sent those items without leaving a name.
At the start of each month, Zoe would consistently receive a gift from an anonymous sender to the reformatory, only for it to be snatched away by Finn’s gang within seconds.
This month was no different. When the warden brought in the items that the families of the inmates had sent, Zoe was, of course, the first to receive his. He took the package, inspecting it closely. Unlike previous times when it was just clothes or food and chocolate, this time Zoe was surprised to find something special—a letter. It was a green envelope, resembling a greeting card, but Zoe was certain today wasn’t his birthday, so it had to be a letter.
His heart stirred with curiosity. Who had sent him this letter, and what was its content? His parents were dead from an accident, and he had no relatives. Who could possibly remember him? Who would send him a letter? If it was a mistake, then why had he received the same thing month after month, addressed to the same inmate—Zoe James?
As the warden continued calling out names for the inmates to collect their gifts, Zoe discreetly slipped the letter inside his shirt, hoping Finn’s gang wouldn’t notice. He didn’t care about losing the gifts; the letter was all that mattered to him. He wanted to know who the sender was, and whether they had any connection to his parents. Could he meet them once he was released from the reformatory?
But unfortunately, Zoe’s curiosity went unanswered. After the warden left the room, Finn’s gang quickly moved in to snatch Zoe’s package. After taking it, they intended to leave, but Finn, with a dangerous look in his eyes, stopped them.
“He’s hiding something else.”
“I’ve got nothing left; you’ve taken everything,” Zoe said, retreating into the corner of the room.
“I saw you stuff something into your shirt. It could be money!”
At Finn’s words, his gang’s eyes lit up with greed. They lunged at Zoe, pulling him out and tearing his shirt, snatching the letter that was still warm from being close to his body. Zoe helplessly watched as the letter fell into Finn’s hands.
“It’s just a letter, nothing else,” Zoe said.
Finn smirked triumphantly. “Let’s see.”
He tore the top of the envelope and pulled out a pristine white piece of paper, unfolding it to read.
“Nothing.”
With that, Finn crumpled the paper into a ball, intending to toss it into the trash. But seeing the longing in Zoe’s eyes, he changed his mind. Finn carefully opened the paper again, then slowly tore it into tiny pieces—so small that even if someone tried to piece them back together, they wouldn’t be able to decipher the content of the letter. Once again, Finn smirked with satisfaction and left with his gang to play basketball, leaving Zoe crouched on the floor, staring at the pile of torn paper. 
Among the scraps, only a few fragments had legible words. Zoe sighed, picking up a small piece with the only word he could still make out: "Neil."