"Don't cry."
Elise crouched and smoothed Mae's tangled hair while rain traced gray rivers down the police station glass. Mae's small shoulders trembled under the wet jacket. Elise kept her voice soft and steady.
"Tell me what happened," Elise said.
"I only wanted to put it inside," Mae said, words coming out sharp and small. She pressed her palms into her eyes. "Quinn said the box would fit. I—"
"Quinn?" the desk officer asked, looking up from his paperwork.
"That's what she calls me," Mae said, sniffing. "Quinn. Because of the drawing."
The officer glanced at Elise. "You a teacher at Summit?"
"Art and music," Elise answered. "I brought her here when I found her wandering by Harbor Circuit. She ran away from a house party." She kept her tone matter-of-fact. She had done this a dozen times with teenagers: ask, listen, make a plan.
Mae hiccupped. "I wanted to put it inside the car. The secret box. It was supposed to be safe. I didn't mean to cause trouble."
"What box?" Elise asked.
Mae's lips thinned. "A wooden one. Paint on the lid. Quinn said to hide it until the Exhibition."
Elise let the question hang and turned back to the officer. "Can you call the guardian line? Her uncle, maybe? She lives in Mariner Heights."
The officer tapped his screen. "We'll run it. If there's a guardian available, we'll contact them. Right now she's found, and
