The McBrides were on the road with Lincoln in tow. The two fathers were in the front seats while Lincoln and Clyde sat next to each other in the back. But all Lincoln did was just look outside from his window seat. There was no doubt that his parents basically using him in a costume as a staple for good luck only for it to amount to nothing more than a charade just to punish him had sent him into a deep pit of depression. He felt hollow on the inside and dead on the outside. Clyde had his arm around him, but Lincoln didn't avert his eyes or even utter a word. He didn't blame him, as he knew his fathers wouldn't have taken such extreme measures to lay out any punishments for him. He then noticed that a single tear rolled down Lincoln's left cheek. Seeing his best friend so sad made him sad too. Eventually, they arrived at their destination, a beautifully painted one-story building. The sign at the building read "Royal Woods Child Care for Mental Health". The vehicle pulled into the parking lot.

"Alright, let's do this," said Howard. The four got out of the vehicle and went into the building, meeting the receptionist at the front desk.

"Howard and Harold McBride here," said Harold. "We called yesterday to inquire about checking in this young man right here." He gestured to the white-haired boy.

"Lincoln Loud?" said the receptionist. She checked some paperwork. "Ah, yes." She then pushed a buzzer on her front desk. "Miss Lone, please come to the front desk. Lincoln Loud is checking in." She then spoke to the dads. "So Lincoln will be assigned to the care of Lyra Lone. She will escort you to the room where he'll be staying."

"Thank you very much," said Howard. Both dads put a hand each on Lincoln's shoulders and smiled at him to assure him. Lincoln gave a small smile back to them, but then let out a sad sigh, looking down.

"Hey there." A white-haired young woman appearing to be in her mid-thirties arrived at the front desk. She wore a purple jacket over an orange shirt, light gray pants, and white shoes. Her white hair was long, down past her waist halfway to her knees. Lincoln got a good look at her as she lowered herself to match the boy's height. "Hello," she said with a very nice voice. "You must be Lincoln. Nice to meet you. I'm Lyra. I'm gonna take care of you." Lincoln still didn't say anything but they did shake hands.

"You would not believe what this poor boy has been through," said Harold. "The stories have made our skin crawl. But, long story short, he was abused by his family for about two weeks and then got sick with pneumonia." Lyra gasped, holding her hands to her mouth.

"Oh my gosh," Lyra murmured, instantly taking pity on the boy. "You poor thing. Can I give you a hug?" Lincoln nodded sadly and Lyra did so. "I'm so sorry to hear this. You seem like such a nice, sweet boy."

"A-am I hearing this right?" asked the receptionist. "Domestic abuse followed by... pneumonia?!"

"Luckily, it was only mild to moderate," said Howard. "He still had to be taken to the hospital, though."

"He was also treated for skin rashes and a wild raccoon coming into contact with him," said Harold. "Must have happened when he was forced to sleep outside for two nights straight." Both the receptionist and Lyra reacted with horror. It was a good thing that raccoon didn't have rabies or Lincoln would have been far worse off.

"Where are the boy's parents now?" the receptionist asked.

"They're detained," answered Howard.

"Good," said Lyra suddenly. Even though she had yet to learn everything else, including the two weeks Lincoln was stuffed into that mascot costume, she already hinted at instantly despising the boy's parents. "Anyway, let's get you to your room." Lyra, Lincoln, and the McBrides took a walk and soon arrived at Lincoln's assigned room. The door was labeled "208A". They went inside. "This is where you'll be staying for a few days," said Lyra. "It's relatively new, as we got recent donations of old furniture from a couple of other homes." Lincoln looked around the room. It reminded him of his own room back at home, which he recalled as a small space of comfort to stay out of the thick of things. That is, whenever his sisters weren't intruding on his privacy, which he found annoying. But this room appeared to be a little larger than his own room. This was likely because it was actually a room and not a closet converted into a room. And then, something, or some things, stood out to the boy as very familiar, a little too familiar.

"My... my bed..." he said.

"What?" said Lyra.

"This is my bed," said Lincoln. "I know it's my bed! What's it doing here?" Lincoln took another glance and sure enough, he spotted the rest of his furniture as well. "My desk... my chair... my shelf..."

"Hey, he's right!" said Clyde. "I recognize these!"

"What on earth...?" said Howard.

"How in the world...?" said Harold. Lincoln suddenly ran out of the room and looked further down the corridor. He saw a larger room with other children either playing by themselves or on the laps of adult supervisors having children's stories read to them. Walking into the room carefully so as not to disturb anyone, he had a quick look around and there was a collection of unsorted things. And yes, they were his belongings - his toys, comic books, video games, clothes, posters, school supplies... all of them. And of course...

"Bun-Bun?!" choked Lincoln. He managed to keep his voice down, but likely due to his current level of depression, he was incapable of raising his voice. "...Bun-Bun!" He scooped up his precious stuffed animal and hugged it for dear life, breaking down. The other adults and children present did stop what they were doing, but weren't exactly interrupted.

"Lincoln?" Lyra stepped into the larger room, seeing Lincoln sobbing while snuggling his stuffed bunny.

"M-my things..." he cried. "They're here... They're all here!"

"These are all yours? But how?"

"They were all donations from several other families who apparently didn't want them anymore," said another adult. "We don't know why. And we don't know why they were donated here of all places. Yeah, we got kids here, but did these families even know what kinds of kids we're looking after? Video games alone are rather loud, though the volume could always be turned down or one can just wear headphones. We've only had them a couple of days."

"Isn't that how long ago we got the furniture for Room 208A?" asked Lyra.

"Hey... yeah it is," said the adult. "And what's funny is that each family just happened to give the exact same reason for not wanting these items. ...This can't be a coincidence, can it?" Lincoln's belongings had indeed traveled hither and yon, divided amongst several families. And somehow, either by sheer luck - yeah, luck - or by the whims of fate, they all happened to reunite in the exact same place. And it was the same place that Lincoln Loud just happened to be checking into for the next few days. As final proof, Lincoln pulled out a sheet of homework paper from his backpack that had his name signed on it.

"Uh, Miss Lone?" said Clyde. Lyra giggled.

"You can just call me Lyra if you like," she said.

"Well... what you know about Lincoln so far is only bare bones of just half of it." Clyde sighed. "We'd better tell you the whole story. Let's go back to Lincoln's room."

"Hold up," said Lyra. "Not without helping me move his things there." And so Lyra, Lincoln, and the McBrides pitched in and brought all of Lincoln's belongings to Room 208A and afterwards, Lyra closed the door so the story could be told privately. "Tell me everything." Not a single detail was skipped. Lyra was filled in on everything - Lynn Jr., Lincoln being overworked and outnumbered, his room being boarded up, spending two nights outside with no shelter, all his belongings being sold, wearing the softball team mascot costume for hours on end, including that time on the beach during that hot day, and finally getting sick with pneumonia leading to his big sister Leni coming to his aid. Lyra's blood boiled. If there was a way for her to feel both mad and sad at the same time, she would be the epitome. "Could you guys excuse me for a moment?" she said with obvious tranquil fury. "And... Lincoln, can I borrow your pillow?" Lincoln nodded. She left the room and walked back to the front entrance.

"Miss Lone?" said the receptionist, noting the pillow in Lyra's hands.

"I need to scream... bad," said Lyra. "So I'm going outside. Be back in a minute." Once outside, Lyra really did scream loudly into the pillow, even folding it in half so that her voice would hopefully be simmered down even more. She felt tears building up, but kept her eyes shut until she was done screaming. When she came back in, she helped herself to a few handkerchiefs to deal with her tears. Back in Room 208A, Lyra sat on Lincoln's bed and wiped her eyes with the handkerchiefs she had. "Lincoln..." she sniffled. "Words cannot describe how horrible I feel for you right now. What you've been through is at least tenfold more than any other child I've been with since I first started my job here. For one, not one of our children here has ever had a history of abuse. They've simply struggled with their own mental health and need people like us to just give them our time." Lincoln felt bad, though he knew he probably shouldn't have to. While he created that lie, what the rest of his family did to him was an actual crime. And his parents were now in jail, presumably until a court of law would give them a proper sentence, and here he was, labeled as a survivor of domestic abuse as well as child negligence and endangerment.

"Time for us to go, Hare-Bear," said Howard. Harold nodded.

"Lincoln, you're in good hands now," he said. Clyde gave Lincoln a loving hug and he was able to return it.

"Take care, buddy," he said, beginning to tear up. "I'll miss you."

"Mm," Lincoln replied. After the McBrides left, Lyra held both of Lincoln's shoulders.

"Don't worry," she said sweetly. "You're in good hands. I promise."