She checked her pupils, her pulse, the swelling near her temple, the bruises along her arms where adult fingers had gripped too hard.

Her jaw tightened only once—when she saw the marks on her wrists.

Maya saw it too.

“Are you mad?” she asked her.

Nina paused.

Then she sat beside her.

“I am mad that someone hurt you,” she said.

“But I am not mad at you.”