The metal door creaked open, cutting through the silence like a knife. The children sat up instinctively—backs straight, eyes forward, breath held. A guard stepped in, boots echoing like thunder across the cement floor.

His eyes scanned the rows of cots.

Then— "#630. You’re coming with me."

Caleb’s heart sank to his stomach. He didn’t move at first. Maybe if he stayed very still, the number wouldn’t belong to him.

But the guard’s hand gripped his thin shoulder and lifted him to his feet. No time for questions. No explanations. Just a silent shuffle of his small feet against the cold floor as he followed.

The hallway was long, too bright, and too quiet. His ears rang with fear. Maybe it was punishment. Maybe the basement.

They passed the stairwell. Not the basement. Up.

That was worse.

He was brought to a door he'd only seen once before—from far down the hall. The Director’s Office.

The guard knocked once, then opened it.

Inside sat a man in a sharp grey suit. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t look angry either. There was a thick file in front of him. Caleb’s file. Pages of numbers. Injuries. Silence. Failure to bond.

The man looked up at him slowly and said:

“Congratulations. Someone wants to adopt you.”

Caleb didn’t respond. He blinked, lips parted slightly.

Adopt?

That word belonged to fairytales. Not to children with scars, or broken voices, or numbers instead of names.

“Your name is Caleb, right?” the man asked, flipping a page.

Caleb didn’t know how to answer. His mouth was dry. His real name. No one had said it in years. It felt like dust on his tongue.

“Caleb,” the man said again, more gently this time. “They asked for you by name.”