Michael’s instincts sharpened. He’d seen the same nervous smiles in faraway villages, where women tried to mask their fear in front of soldiers. His training taught him to notice small things—body language, quick glances, silent pleas.

Then he noticed the child.

The little girl’s hair was tied in two uneven pigtails, and her pink sneakers swung back and forth under the table. She stared at her folded hands for a long time. Slowly, almost uncertainly, she lifted one tiny palm and curled her fingers in and out, thumb tucked across her palm.