POV: Evelyn

The woman who came to take my daughter carried a county badge that had expired two years ago.

She held it close to the camera at the Blackwood gate, giving us a clear view of her photograph and almost no time to read the date beneath it.

Almost.

"Darla Vance, Child Protective Services," she announced through the speaker. "I have an emergency removal order for Sophie Quinn."

Silas stood behind me in the security room. He did not touch me, but the bond carried the instant violence of his wolf.

Mine.

The word was not about me this time.

It was about Sophie.

"You don't have to let her through the gate," he said.

"If we refuse, Grant tells a judge we're hiding Sophie from lawful review."

Miriam enlarged the badge image on another screen. "The credentials are false. County replaced that design after a data breach."

"Then we arrest her outside."

"And learn nothing about who prepared the order," I said.

Silas looked at me.

Yesterday, that look might have become an argument. Today he asked, "What do you want to do?"

My fear was still there. It had simply stopped being the only voice in the room.

"Let her believe the badge worked."

Miriam called the real county office while Ronan opened the outer gate. Briar waited in the pantry with a county supervisor named Helen Park, whose actual badge was clipped to her jacket and whose expression suggested she had no patience for people impersonating social workers.

Sophie remained upstairs with Maeve and three locked doors between her and the visitor.

I met Darla in the front room.

She wore a navy suit bought one size too small and carried a plastic folder stamped CONFIDENTIAL. Her smile arrived before concern did.

"Mrs. Quinn. I understand this has been a difficult week."

"I was pushed off a mountain."

Her smile held. "Exactly."

She handed me a form.

I recognized the logo from the woman who had interviewed Sophie at the hospital. The same tree, the same county name—but this form asked for a noncustodial parent's fax number and listed “maternal unfitness” as a checkbox. The hospital worker had told me that wording had been retired after a federal review.

"Who requested the removal?"

"The court."

"Courts don't make reports. People do."

Her smile thinned. "Your husband raised urgent concerns."

Of course he had.

"What concerns?"

"That Sophie may have been coached to repeat false allegations after a traumatic accident. I need to interview her alone."

"What trauma protocol will you use?"

For the first time, Darla hesitated.

"Standard child interview procedure."

"Which is?"

"Mrs. Quinn, resistance will be documented."

Grant loved that kind of sentence. It turned a question into misconduct.

I lowered my eyes and made my shoulders smaller. The old shape came easily. Darla relaxed as soon as I looked afraid.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I just don't want to make this worse."

Behind the wall, someone shifted. I hoped it was Ronan and not Silas putting a fist through the pantry.

Darla softened her voice. "Then bring Sophie downstairs. We'll talk privately, and if everything is appropriate, this can be painless."

"Will the interview be recorded?"

"That won't be necessary."

"The hospital interview was recorded."

"Different circumstances."

"Will Sophie have an advocate?"

Darla's eyes flicked toward the hallway. "Children speak more freely when adults they depend on are absent."

"Which adults? Her mother or the stranger who arrived with forged paperwork?"

The softness left her face.

"Mrs. Quinn, your cooperation is currently the only reason officers have not entered this property."

It was a threat disguised as mercy. Grant's favorite shape.

I let silence stretch until she mistook it for surrender.

"If Sophie says she wants to stay with me, does she stay?"

"That depends on whether her answer appears coached."

An answer Darla disliked would become proof against me. No child could pass a test whose result had been chosen in advance.

"And if she says she wants her father?"

"Then we can facilitate immediate reunification."