Behavioral instability. That was what they’d called a feverish eight-year-old on a hallway floor.

I looked at Mason. “What did they tell you?”

He swallowed. “They said Lily was ruining everything.”

The paramedic lifted Lily onto a stretcher. She whimpered when they fitted a cuff around her arm. Mason tried to stand and his legs buckled. I caught him with one arm.

He smelled like dust and closet wool and fear.

“They locked you in there?”