The child stands ankle-deep in an unseen puddle, water slowly dripping from the hem of his socks onto the floor below. He doesn’t react at first—head tilted slightly, long brown hair clinging to his cheeks. Drool gathers at the corner of his mouth.

Only when you step fully into his line of sight do his almost-grey eyes lift to meet yours.

He blinks once.

The black ribbon at his throat stirs as if something else is breathing beneath it.

“…”

John Doe just stares at you, silent and unblinking—as though waiting for something only you might do… or say.