In the cell the child untied fingers from laces and shaped notes into the air. The melody was a snagged thread—part lullaby, part machine rhythm. Rae sat on the bench opposite and matched the tune. At first the child watched her like you watch anyone who might be trying to trick you. Then their face opened like a window.

Rae’s fingers tightened on the case of chips in her bag. “I’m looking for a stack.”

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