He exchanged a few weary pleasantries with the Sergeant and turned to leave. As he passed the bench where Emily was sitting—waiting for Child Protective Services to arrive—he stopped.

Dr. Evans didn’t just look; he observed. He saw a terrified child, small for her age, clutching herself as if trying to disappear. He knelt down, ignoring the stiffness in his knees.

“Rough night, huh, kiddo?” he asked gently.

Emily didn’t speak. She just pulled her cardigan tighter around herself. But in that movement, the fabric of her sleeve rode up.

Dr. Evans’s eyes narrowed. He saw them. Faint, yellowish-green bruises on her upper arm. Not the scraped knees of a clumsy child. These were distinct. Oval-shaped. Four on one side, one on the other. The grip mark of a large hand.