Dana entered carefully.
“Eli, you scared us half to death.”
“Sorry.”
“We've been looking everywhere.”
Huck spoke.
“Where are they going?”
Dana looked at him.
“Excuse me?”
“Tonight.”
“Mr...?”
“Darnell. Huck Darnell.”
Recognition crossed the deputy's face.
Dana answered.
“Emergency foster intake.”
“Together?”
Silence.
Huck waited.
Dana looked at Eli.
“We're trying.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“Huck,” Deputy Cole warned gently.
Huck didn't raise his voice.
“I'm asking if those two kids leave this building tonight, are they sleeping under the same roof?”
Dana exhaled.
“I can't guarantee that.”
Eli made a small sound.
Huck heard it.
So did everyone else.
Marlene stepped forward.
“Then they stay.”
Dana shook her head.
“That's not how this works.”
“Tell us how it works.”
“We need an approved placement.”
“Good.”
Marlene folded her arms.
“Approve one.”
Dana almost laughed from exhaustion.
“It takes background checks, home inspections, interviews—”
“Start.”
She stared.
“Now?”
“Now.”
Huck looked toward the storm.
“You were willing to process two freezing kids into separate emergency homes at midnight. You can process one emergency placement here.”
Deputy Cole looked at Dana.
She hesitated.
“Mr. Darnell, are you seriously offering to take responsibility for two minors you've known for less than four hours?”
Huck looked at Eli.
Then Daisy.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The room became silent.
Huck reached into his wallet.
He removed an old photograph.
The edges were soft from decades of handling.
A girl smiled from the picture.
Eleven years old.
Dark hair.
Missing front tooth.
Huck looked at it.
“This is Rebecca.”
Nobody moved.
Even most of the Riders had never heard the story in full.
“My daughter.”
He swallowed.
“She died thirty-one years ago.”
Eli stared.
“Drunk driver crossed the center line.”
Huck's thumb moved across the photograph.
“I spent thirty-one years wishing there had been one thing I could've done differently that night.”
His eyes lifted toward Dana.
“There wasn't.”
Then he looked at Daisy.
“But tonight there is.”
Dana's face softened.
Huck returned the photograph to his wallet.
“I couldn't save my kid.”
His voice nearly broke.
“But don't ask me to stand here and watch somebody separate these two without at least trying.”
Silence.
Then Marlene spoke.
“I live in the attached residence.”
Dana turned.
“Two spare bedrooms. Working smoke detectors. Locked medication cabinet. No firearms in the residential section. I worked eight years as a child advocacy paralegal.”
Dana blinked.
Rooster raised a hand.
“Veterans youth mentoring clearance.”
Brick followed.
“Same.”
Annie:
“Registered nurse.”
Miles:
“School transportation contractor. Full background check renewed four months ago.”
Dana slowly looked around the clubhouse.
These were not the people she expected them to be.
Maybe that was the problem.
Deputy Cole cleared his throat.
“Dana.”
She looked at him.
“Roads are getting worse.”
“I know.”
“The kids are warm. Fed. Safe.”
“I know.”
“We have discretionary overnight emergency placement pending assessment.”
She knew.
That was why she hated that he said it aloud.
Dana looked at Eli.
He wasn't begging anymore.
He simply stood beside the couch with one hand resting on Daisy's blanket.
Guarding her even while she slept.
Dana had been doing this job for eleven years.
She knew rules mattered.
She also knew why rules existed.
They existed to protect children.
Not systems.
Children.
She took out her phone.
“I'm calling my supervisor.”
Nobody breathed.
The conversation lasted twelve minutes.
It felt like twelve hours.
Finally Dana ended the call.
She looked at Huck.
“Eight a.m.”
“What?”
“Home assessment.”
Marlene nodded.
“We'll be ready.”
“Children remain here tonight under emergency discretionary supervision. I return at eight. If the residence fails inspection, this ends immediately.”