Bram recognized the supervisor by the way he kept turning his hands palm down on the desk.
Years earlier, in another room with a different line of frightened people, the same gesture had meant the conversation was over. The supervisor had not carried a weapon then either. He had not needed one. There had always been somebody standing just behind the person he was refusing.
Here, a family waited behind a young hunter whose pen hovered above a new contract.
“Protected assignments receive priority support,” the clerk said. “That includes a designated family placement.”
The hunter glanced toward the ordinary admission line.
“Do they go there if I don’t sign?”
“If you sign, we can keep the placement together.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
