Along with a large clot of first- and second-year students, George walked through the early-evening air toward the dorm and past a young security guard who seemed to be patrolling the front of the building. George looked at him quickly, as he had no umbrella and his black fake-leather coat with its fake-fur collar appeared soaked. He looked about seventeen, and George paid him no mind. He walked into the dorm building and waited with the throng of students for an elevator. For the fiftieth time, George checked his phone. There was no text message from Pia, no call or e-mail.

When he reached his room, George flopped down on the bed, exhausted and hungry. He suddenly felt alone and afraid. He knew he wasn’t nearly as tough as Pia. Armed with what little he knew of her upbringing, he was aware of how much she’d been through in her life. It was so much more than he had ever experienced. Sure, his dad died when he was young, and there hadn’t been a lot of money around when he was growing up, but his mother had always made sure he was loved and looked after. She paid attention to his education—made sure he studied and guided him through high school and college and on to medical school. She was always there, making sure he worked hard enough to justify the scholarships he needed to attend Arizona State University and then Columbia Medical School. All in all George had had support and security all his life, exactly the opposite of Pia. Vaguely he wondered where he would be today had he shared Pia’s experiences. Probably in something like a hamburger joint slinging hash.

Suddenly George missed hearing a friendly voice. He called his mom but got the ancient answering machine she still insisted on using. He didn’t leave a message. Then he looked at his watch and called his grandmother Sally Mason in Phoenix. He thought the middle of the afternoon would be a good time to catch her, but it was not meant to be. This time he left a message.

After George had passed by and entered the dorm, Neri went to the driver’s-side window of the van. Prek lowered the window and looked at the rookie and felt sorry for him. He looked bedraggled with his dark hair plastered against his forehead. “Okay,” Prek said. “Get back in the van but stay in the uniform.”

“Thanks,” Neri said, and meant it. He quickly entered through the van’s sliding door.

Prek watched him in the rearview mirror as he pulled off the wet jacket. Genti was tapping a pencil against the dash in time to the music.

“Did the George fellow look at you?” Prek asked, still watching the underling in the mirror. It was easier than turning around.

“He did. He looked me right in the eye. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?”