The reinforced observation window between the staging alcove and the transfer ramp was thick enough to mute a gunshot, but it could not stop the weight of a gaze.
Mara stood beside the observation glass while Noah settled Evelyn in the cleared transfer alcove. An exterior door now led to the guarded ramp; the route to the trucks was held by adults. June remained at the school relay. Naomi, who had stayed with Wren, came only as far as the alcove’s safe doorway.
Mara showed Evelyn the small photograph June had sent in the dispatch case. “You don’t have to name her,” she said. “Would you like to look?”
Evelyn nodded. Mara placed the photograph on the sill and stepped back. For three minutes the woman held her tea and looked at the image. Then she set down the mug and touched the pictured child’s thumb with one dry finger.
“She has my grandmother’s thumbs,” Evelyn whispered.
Mara wrote the words exactly, without adding recognition restored. Noah transmitted them to the school; Dan acknowledged receipt. It was a fragment Evelyn had offered herself, not a test passed under threat.
Five paces back in the shadows of the corridor, Wren watched them.
