“Hi, Leo,” Martha said, her voice softening, dropping an octave into what her coworkers called the ‘Nana Tone.’ “How old are you, Leo?”

“I’m six. I’m six and a half.”

“Okay, Leo. You’re a big boy. Do you have an emergency? Is someone hurt?”

There was a pause on the line. In the background, Martha could hear something faint. Thumping. Bass music? Thunder? It was muffled, like it was coming from far away or through a wall.

“I don’t have a ‘mergency,” Leo said, his voice trembling. “I just… The TV said you guys know everything. The policeman on the cartoon said you help people find things.”

“We do our best, Leo,” Martha said, signaling to her supervisor, Dave, with a sharp wave of her hand. Dave looked up, saw the intensity in her face, and started moving toward her station. “What do you need help finding?”