I sign: “This is Jay. He’s safe. He takes care of all of us.”
The boy’s hands emerge from the blankets. He signs: “Yesterday. Bread.”
“He knows ASL,” I tell Jay. “And he’s not speaking, but I don’t think he’s mute. I heard him whisper outside.”
Jay’s expression softens with understanding. He’s seen this before, too—children so traumatized they retreat into silence. “That’s alright, son. However, you need to communicate; we’ll work with it.” He gestures to his own hands. “I don’t know sign language as well as Chloe does, but I can learn. For now, let metake a look at you, make sure nothing’s broken or frostbitten, okay?”
The boy nods and lets Jay conduct a gentle examination while I move to the kitchen to prepare hot chocolate and soup. My hands are shaking as I fill the kettle, adrenaline still coursing through my veins.
The monster is coming for me.
What does that mean? Is someone after him? What kind of abuse has he endured? Kidnapped? The possibilities make my stomach churn.
I’m pouring hot chocolate into a mug when Mei appears at my elbow, still in her pajamas, her eyes wide with curiosity.
“Is he okay?”
“He will be.” I hand her the mug. “Can you take this to him? And Mei?” I wait until the girl meets my eyes. “What you did tonight was brave. You might have saved that boy’s life. But it was also dangerous. Promise me if anything like this happens again, you’ll wake me up first.”
Mei’s expression turns solemn. “I promise, Miss Chloe.”
By the time I return to the common room with a bowl of warm soup, Jay has finished his examination, and the boy is sippinghot chocolate slowly, both hands wrapped around the mug like it’s precious.
“No signs of frostbite or serious injury,” Jay reports, standing to meet me. He keeps his voice low. “But he’s malnourished and dehydrated. Looks like he’s been on the streets for at least a few days, maybe longer. And Chloe…” He pauses, his expression troubled. “He has bruises. Old ones, mostly faded. But they’re there.”
My jaw clenches. I’d suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed makes rage bloom hot in my chest. “Someone hurt him.”
“Someone did more than hurt him. Those bruises are systematic. Defensive wounds on his arms, impact marks on his ribs.” Jay’s voice is grim. “This wasn’t an accident or normal childhood roughhousing. This was sustained abuse.”
We both look at the boy, who is now working his way through the soup with single-minded focus. Mei sits beside him on the sofa, chattering away about the orphanage and the other kids, seemingly unbothered by his silence.
“We need to call the police,” Jay says. “File a report. Someone’s looking for him.”
“What if that someone is the person who hurt him?”
“Then the police will handle it. Chloe, we have to follow protocol. You know that.”
I do know that. But protocol didn’t save me when I was young. Protocol had nearly gotten me killed.
“One day,” I say quietly. “Give me one day with him first. Let him settle. Let him feel safe. Then we’ll call.”
Jay sighs, running a hand through his messy hair. “Twenty-four hours. Then I’m making the call whether you like it or not.”
“Thank you.”
After Jay heads back to bed, I settle into the armchair across from the sofa. Mei has finally been coaxed back to her room, protesting the entire way. Now it’s just me and the boy, the fire crackling between us, the old building settling around us with creaks and groans.
The boy has finished his soup and is now fighting to keep his eyes open, his head nodding forward before he jerks himself awake again.
“Hey,” I say softly. When he looks at me, I sign: “You can sleep. You’re safe here. I promise.”
“You’ll stay?” His hands move slowly, exhaustion making him clumsy.
“I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”
He studies my face for a long moment, as if trying to determine whether I’m lying. Whatever he sees there must satisfy him because he finally lets his eyes close.
I watch him sleep, this boy who’s wandered into my life in the middle of the night. I should be tired—it’s nearly four in the morning—but my mind is racing.
