Evan looked at her.
“The laces were loud?”
She nodded again.
“Russell was sleeping in the chair. Mama said if he was sleeping, don’t wake him. Don’t ever wake him if he’s been drinking from the brown bottle.”
The station changed temperature.
Not literally. The heat still hummed through the vents. The fluorescent lights still buzzed. But something in the room hardened around them.
Evan had been in law enforcement for fourteen years. He had learned to keep his face calm when people told him things that made his hands want to curl into fists. He had learned that the first duty in a room with a frightened child was not anger. It was steadiness.
So he nodded slowly.
“You were very quiet,” he said.
“I practiced,” Nora replied.
Marla turned away for a moment.
Evan saw it.
She was blinking too fast.
The baby gave another weak cry, stronger this time. Evan gently rocked him, awkward at first. He had nieces, nephews, friends with babies, but holding a hungry five-week-old in a police station at night while his seven-year-old sister watched like a tiny guard dog was different from anything he had done before.
“Milo needs a doctor,” Evan said. “The ambulance is coming.”
Nora shook her head quickly.
“No hospital first.”
Evan paused.
“Why not?”
“Mama said police first. She said don’t let Russell tell them he’s our daddy. He isn’t. He says he is when people are listening.”
Evan glanced at Marla.
Marla was already typing.
“Does your mama have papers?” Evan asked.
Nora’s eyes widened.
Then she slid down from the chair and went back to the grocery bag.
“I almost forgot.”
From beneath the towels, she pulled out a large envelope.
It was bent from being carried too tightly, with one corner damp from the baby blanket. Across the front, written in neat but shaky handwriting, were four words:
For the police only.
Nora held it out with both hands.
“Mama said give this to a real badge.”
Evan took the envelope carefully.
“Did she tell you what’s inside?”
Nora shook her head.
“She said it was our way out.”
Evan did not open it in front of her right away. He set it on the desk beside him and crouched again so they were eye-level.
“Nora, I need to ask you something important. Did anyone hurt Milo tonight?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I kept him wrapped.”
“I know. Did anyone hurt your mom?”
Her face changed.
Not fear this time.
Loyalty.
The fierce, impossible loyalty children carry for the adults they love, even when those adults have been pushed past what they can explain.
“Mama fell,” Nora said.
Then, after a pause, she added, “But only because he scared her.”
Evan nodded once, accepting the answer without forcing more.
The front doors opened again.
Two paramedics stepped in carrying a medical bag and a soft infant carrier. Evan stood and passed Milo to the nearest one, a calm woman named Tasha who had worked nearly every emergency in Briar Glen for ten years.
Nora jumped up.
“No!”
Evan turned toward her immediately.
“They’re going to check him,” he said. “You can stay right here. See? He’s still in the room.”
Nora’s chest rose and fell too fast.
“He doesn’t like strangers.”
Tasha, bless her, stopped where she was.
“I understand,” she said to Nora, her voice warm but not syrupy. “How about I sit right there on the floor, and you can watch everything I do?”
Nora studied her.
“You have to keep his hat on. He gets cold.”
“I will keep his hat on,” Tasha promised.
“And he likes the song about the moon.”
“I don’t know that one,” Tasha admitted. “Can you hum it?”
Nora hesitated.
Then, very softly, she hummed a broken little tune while Tasha checked the baby’s breathing, temperature, and pulse.
Evan looked away for one second.
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