And the next morning, at 10:19, something happened that finally confirmed her suspicions: the girl was walking next to the man, clutching her backpack so tightly that her knuckles were white. Her face was pale, her gaze guilty or frightened. She wasn’t smiling—and neither was he.

As they passed the utility room, Angela peeked out. And for the first time, she noticed that the girl was barely standing, as if she were ill. The man was holding her arm, but it didn’t look like concern.