His hand tightened around the boy’s wrist.
Leo immediately turned his body sideways.
He didn’t pull away.
He didn’t complain.
He simply adjusted himself around the pressure.
Children tell you things before they speak.
Sometimes they tell you by crying.
Sometimes by clinging to a parent.
Sometimes by refusing to sit still.
And sometimes they tell you by becoming very, very good at making themselves smaller.
I stepped between Greg and the boy.
“I’m Dr. Thomas. I’ll examine him in Room 4.”
Greg followed us.
Leo walked ahead of him.
Inside the exam room, Leo climbed onto the paper-covered bed and sat near the edge with both hands hidden inside the front pocket of his gray hoodie.
Rainwater dripped from his shoes onto the floor.
His clothes looked ordinary enough for a child brought in during bad weather, but his posture didn’t.
He kept his knees close together.
