The Twelfth Placement

Claire was rinsing the plate shards when she heard the boots.

Not fast. Measured. Like the person wearing them knew the house would move for him.

She kept her crouch at the kitchen floor, hands on the towel, and looked up only when Adrian Vale came through the doorway with one of his staff men half a step behind him. He filled the frame in a gray coat, still wearing the shape of the office. The staff man stopped near the island. Adrian kept going until he was looking down at Leo, who had taken up station by the pantry with his arms folded tight.

Silas Kane came in behind him.

He smiled at Claire first, then at the mess.

“Good morning,” he said. “I’m told we’ve had a little episode.”

Leo’s jaw worked. His bare foot slid back under the chair.

Claire set the last shard on the towel. “Looks that way.”

Silas’s eyes flicked over her face, her hands, the floor. He had the kind of polite voice that made room for trouble. “You’re the twelfth, is that right?”

“I’m the one here now.”

Adrian looked from the broken plate to his son. “Leo.”

The boy didn’t answer.

Silas gave a small chuckle. “He’s been difficult with every placement. I’m sure you were briefed.”

“I was,” Claire said.

Silas clasped his hands behind his back. “Then you know boundaries matter in this house. Leo tests them. He throws things. He wants a reaction.”

Claire stood, slow, so she wasn’t looming over the kid. “Does he hit his targets?”

Silas blinked once.

Adrian’s gaze shifted to her, then back to Leo.

“What?”

“The lamps. The plates. The wall. Is he aiming at the adults, or the room?”

Silas’s smile held, but the skin around it tightened. “That’s not really relevant.”

“It is to me.”

Leo stared at the floorboards. His right hand kept brushing the seam of his left pocket.

Silas stepped closer to the table. “You’ll find the boy responds best to consistency. And restraint. We don’t negotiate with tantrums.”

“Good,” Claire said. “I’m not here to negotiate.”

That got Adrian’s attention. He leaned one hand on the chair back, knuckles pale.

Silas tipped his head, still pleasant. “Careful, Ms. Morgan. I’d hate for you to become the thirteenth woman who misunderstood her role.”

Claire met his eyes. “My role is to keep the child fed and safe.”

For a second, nobody moved.

Then Leo lifted his head and pointed at the folded white towel on the edge of the counter. The one Claire had used to keep the plate pieces in one place.

“Don’t touch that,” he said, too quick.

Claire looked at him. Not at Silas, not at Adrian. Just him.

“All right,” she said. “I won’t.”

Silas turned his head toward the towel.

His eyes stayed there a beat too long.