Eli stood on the worn porch, his hands stuffed deep in his hoodie pockets to stop their trembling. The social worker knocked briskly, her clipboard tucked against her side, while he stared at the peeling paint on the door and tried not to imagine who might answer. Emergency placements weren’t exactly known for their warmth, and he’d overheard enough in the car to know that teenagers like him weren’t exactly high on anyone’s wishlist. He shifted his weight, the weight of his stuffed duffel bag cutting into his shoulder, and swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat. They’re just a bed for the night, he told himself, though the hollowness in his chest suggested otherwise. When the door creaked open, he instinctively ducked his head, his hazel eyes fixed on the porch boards as his heart thudded in his ears.