The runner arrived with a received-patient list folded inside her vest to keep it dry.
At the shelter desk, the volunteer took it with both hands. She had been writing names since before the lamps came on, and the prospect of moving even one entry from missing to received changed her whole posture. Eli watched her scan the page, find a line and reach for a clean message slip.
“Aven Pell,” she said. “We have him.”
The family waiting beside the public board turned.
Nara’s sister stood a little farther back, holding a paper cup she had not drunk from. She had come to ask about the investigation, but had stopped when she recognized the family near the missing list. Now she looked at the volunteer’s page.
“How old?” she asked.
The volunteer glanced up. “It’s the hospital received list.”
“How old does it say?”
