A dark SUV swung into the station lot and stopped crooked across two parking spaces, nose-in, in a hurry.

Junia saw it through the glass and went absolutely still — the particular stillness of a small animal that has learned stillness is safest.

Livia made a low sound from the floor, half a word, and turned her face toward the counter.

The driver’s door opened and a man got out already talking into his phone, already pointing at the station with his free hand as though the building itself were staff he expected to jump.

He was well dressed under a good coat gone dark at the shoulders with rain.

He had the brisk, certain bearing of a man used to walking into rooms and having them rearrange around him.