While she looked, I scanned her room. Like the rest of the house, it was too neat. Kids’ rooms were supposed to be bottomless pits of toys and moldy food forgotten under the bed. But there were barely any signs of life.

Generic pictures. Beige colors. Not a damn doll out of place.

It was like a furniture store advertisement.

My gut didn’t like it.

She stood and walked to her little art desk. Pulling open drawers, she rifled around like it was her filing cabinets before finding what she needed. She took the piece of paper and handed it to me. “This is my list of cat names, but I don’t think any of them are right.”

I glanced down like I was reading them. “I agree. Why do you have cat names? Are you getting one?”

“No. Martin says they destroy everything. But when I’m older, I want a lot of cats. Just me and twenty cats. My mom says that’ll make me a crazy cat lady, which I think is a superhero?” She didn’t wait for a response before continuing. “Coming up with twenty names all at once would be hard, so I keep a list.”

Bingo.

Just as Mac had predicted, finding a shared interest made Maisie open up. We talked about cats, and I shared Dumpster stories while Maisie scrolled the pictures on repeat.

Like she was petting the cat, Maisie ran her finger along the screen without actually touching it. “I wish I could have one. Even for a few days. Just a visit.”

“Bet if you asked your mom, she’d say yes.”

Even if she didn’t, I was tempted to clear out every adoption center in the state for her.

Giving me a sad shake of her head, Maisie returned to the other side of the room. “Martin said no cats in his house.” She shot me a quick glare, like she knew what I’d say. “And we have to stay here.”

“Why, kid?”

“Because of.” She picked up a piece of metal and rotated it in her little hands.

“What is that?”

Quickly, she tucked it behind her back, her eyes going wide with panic. “Nothing.”

I was about to push for the truth when Jury opened the door. He didn’t speak, shooting Maisie a big smile—rare from him—before subtly gesturing to his wrist.

But Maisie was sharp. She knew what that meant.

Whirling around to face me, she screamed, “I’m not going!”

“It’s a trip, kid. A fun visit to see family.”

“No. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t!” Her scream cut off abruptly, and she stayed silent. Shut down. Shaking like a leaf in a tornado and picking at her cuticles like her mom.