“Arthur showed me this two hours ago,” Nathaniel said.

Martha picked up the paper, her thumb sliding slowly across her own written name.

She checked Daisy’s hands for cold, pulling the girl’s coat sleeves down over her wrists.

“He handed me three blank intake sheets my first Monday on site,” Martha whispered, her defensive edge slipping into a soft, broken tone.

“He said it was standard tax processing and safety policy.”

She set the paper down on the table, her hands flat against the edges.