treatment for a manageable blood disorder.
“Where is she?”
“Still outside.”
“Bring her in.”
Minutes later, two guards escorted a woman into my office.
She looked around thirty.
Maybe younger.
Poverty ages people strangely.
Her dark brown coat was worn white at the seams.
Water dripped from the ends of her black hair.
Her shoes were soaked through.
She had no purse.
No phone that I could see.
No jewelry.
No visible weapon.
She looked exhausted, cold, and terrified.
But she did not look away from me.
“Name?”
“Elena Ward.”
“How do you know about my children?”
Her throat moved when she swallowed.
“I can’t explain until I see them.”
“You’ll explain now.”
“I promised her.”
“Promised who?”
Instead of answering, Elena reached beneath her sweater.
Three guards moved simultaneously.
Prescott’s hand went beneath his jacket.
“Stop.”
Everyone froze.
Elena slowly pulled a silver chain over her head.
A tiny
