Vigilance
Douglas Schofield could tell which children were being hurt at home from the way their eyes moved when a parent came into the room. He was rarely wrong, and almost never able to prove it. The ones he couldn't prove he kept in a leather notebook no file was allowed to hold — telling himself it was for them, when it was also the closest thing he had to company. He had been reading people since boyhood, studying the brother nobody could explain, and he never learned another way to love them: only this, from the exact distance of a man taking notes.
