Inside, on a small chair, sat a boy, maybe ten years old, with a backpack on his knees. His dark hair was messy, and his eyes were wide and bright. He looked from Emma to Tom and then at the open window. “Please don’t tell anyone,” he said quickly. “I’m not a thief. I just needed a place to sit and read.” Emma softened her voice. “What’s your name?” “Daniel,” he said. “My parents travel a lot for work. Sometimes they leave early and come home late. I like quiet places. I come here to draw and watch the street. It feels like my secret castle. I keep the window open for fresh air. I don’t break anything.” Tom pointed gently at the blanket and the cup. “You were here yesterday?” Daniel nodded. “I brought tea from home. I read…