Mitchell knew all of that.

He had lived by it for thirty years.

And yet when he read Elena’s request, some older and quieter part of him, the part that had gone into this work in the first place, long ago, before the shell hardened over it, had spoken up clearly for once, and what it said was that a child should be allowed to hold her mother, and that if the state was determined to take a life, it could at least permit that one small human thing first.

He signed on the strength of that quiet voice, expecting it to change nothing.