The holding rooms weren't designed for comfort. They weren't cold, exactly, but they weren't warm either—just neutral. A kind of in-between space where the walls didn't echo but still felt like they were listening. Temporary protection for people caught in the middle of someone else's chaos.
Jacob sat on the edge of the cot, elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tightly it looked like he was trying to keep something from falling apart. His eyes flicked to me the moment I entered.
"Mr. Vale," he said, standing.
I motioned for him to sit back down. "No need to get up."
Behind him, Lea was curled on a beanbag chair in the corner, a blanket draped over her shoulders and a half-colored sheet of paper on the tray in front of her. A plush rabbit leaned against her side, its ear chewed from stress or habit—I couldn't tell which.
"I have a few questions," I said quietly, "for her. Just a few. Then I'll be out of your hair."
