I turned sharply, instinct on edge. Felicia's voice echoed down the corridor, loud and panicked—her heels a staccato beat against the floor as she came into view, hair windblown, face flushed with fear.
"Elliot!" she shouted again, skidding to a halt when she saw him in my arms.
I felt him startle. He quickly pushed the papers back down. Hiding it again as well as whatever he thought I was finally trusted enough to show me.
Not like a child who'd been found—but like a creature caught. His little body went rigid against me, his earlier emotions—frustration, confusion, plea—sealed behind a wall of practiced stillness.
He didn't move.
Didn't sign.
Didn't cry out.
He just… shut down.
My grip tightened slightly, protectively, and I looked down at him. His face had gone blank in that way only children who'd learned to hide too young could manage.
