Richard stepped between Miles and the wheelchair, raising his phone as though the camera gave him authority. "Greg, this is ridiculous," he said. "The kid could injure you, and then every one of us ends up answering questions about why we allowed it. We have an ambulance coming."
"Then let him explain," Victoria replied, surprising herself with the firmness of her voice. "He's been trying to tell us something for ten minutes, and nobody's given him the courtesy of listening."
Hamilton's jaw tightened. He hated the suggestion that he had been discourteous, particularly when Victoria made it in front of the others. He wanted to argue, but the muscles around his hip seized again and the unfinished protest became a sharp breath. The pain had begun to frighten him in a way that even the wheelchair had not managed. "Fine," he said through his teeth. "Talk."
Miles drew the bundle of pages from his bag. They were clipped together with two bent paper clips and protected by plastic that had been patched with transparent tape. He opened the top journal to the illustration he had studied, then held it up toward the light. No one took it from him, and for one bleak moment he feared he would simply be laughed at again.
"This is a medical journal," he explained. "It's damaged, but the article is still readable. The case involved a deep muscle spasm near the sciatic nerve that caused pain and made the patient think part of the leg had stopped working. The doctors had to check that it wasn't something more serious first."
Thomas leaned forward. "Did you understand that article yourself?"
"Yes, sir."
"All of it?"
"The words I don't know, I look up when I can," Miles said. "But once I learn them, I usually remember."
Richard reached toward the page, expecting perhaps a children's science magazine or a badly photocopied internet post. Instead he found a professionally laid-out article with references, diagrams, and clinical descriptions. He read the first few lines, looked at the illustrations, and silently reconsidered what he had been about to say. Hamilton noticed the change and frowned.
"Where did you get that?" he asked.
"Your recycling bin," Miles replied. "I found it about half an hour ago. There were two others with it."
"You read a whole medical article in half an hour?"
"Once was enough to remember the page," Miles said. "But remembering and being a doctor aren't the same thing. I know that."
That answer made Victoria look at him more carefully. She had met plenty of adults who mistook confidence for knowledge, and this boy seemed unusually aware of the difference. His clothes were filthy, and his hair had not been properly washed in weeks, but his language was precise. He spoke with the intense concentration of somebody who wanted badly to be understood and feared every word might be his last opportunity.
Hamilton studied the page in Richard's hand. "Then tell me what it says without looking."