“You’re not supposed to touch the machines,” Brooklyn whispered, looking at the glowing control panel.

“Nurse Elena said the buttons are only for the doctors.”

Patricia took two quick steps forward, closing the space between them before the child could back out into the hall.

She reached down and clamped her fingers around Brooklyn’s left wrist.

Her grip was tight enough to bunch the flannel sleeve into thick folds against the child’s skin.

“You need to learn when to keep your mouth shut,” Patricia said.

Her voice dropped an octave, rough and flat.