The estate's fire-response map was better than its security map. Maua found it in a glass cabinet in the management office. It showed water points, generator rooms, laundry sheds, basement stores, emergency corridors and an old reading room.
"This is the map we need," she said.
"The security map contains sensitive points," Silas replied.
"The fire map contains places frightened children might shelter."
Corporal Nyambura divided the locations. Maua prioritized places that were enclosed, accessible from the service side, and likely to feel safer during thunder. Kendi's fear made shelter function more important than shortest distance.
The security team kept reporting "clear." Generator passage clear. Furniture store clear. Laundry front clear. Basement stair unsafe from one side; another team checking.
Maua began to hate the word.
Near the old reading room they found a small muddy hand smear on a wall. It might have been old. Maua photographed it and marked it unverified.
The reading room door carried a sign: *CLOSED FOR RENOVATION.*
"Locked for two months," Silas said.
Peter, a maintenance technician, disagreed with the implication. "Closed to residents does not mean inaccessible. Contractors have been in."
The work-order log showed shelves had been removed two days earlier. One note read: *back veranda latch awaiting replacement.*
That changed the location from theoretically closed to physically possible.
Maua asked teams not to smash every door. Peter checked the master-key register. Searchers used correct keys where possible so the search itself would not create hazards in flooded maintenance areas. They found an umbrella in the laundry shelter and closed the false lead when it was identified as belonging to a resident already home.
Then the radio crackled.
"We found Amina."
Maua nearly dropped the map.
Amina was safe in a laundry shelter, cold and alone. Her mother cried at the command point. Nyambura asked the first operational question.
"Where are Nuru and Kendi?"
Amina was frightened and confused. She said they had separated when water crossed the service lane. She ran to the laundry. Nuru stayed with Kendi.
"They said they were going to the room with books."
Everyone looked at the old reading room.
Peter led them around the back. Concrete dust lay dry on a ledge above the water line. There was a smear like a small shoe.
"Could the dog get in here?" Maua asked.
"Under the railing, yes."
"Children?"
"From the veranda, yes."
The grey dust on Kito's paws had become supporting evidence, but the stronger pieces were now the maintenance work order and Amina's statement.
They tried the back door. The handle turned halfway and jammed.
"Wood swells in rain," Peter said.
Daniel shouted Nuru's name. No answer.
Peter began toward the utility access. Maua knocked on the door with her knuckles.
"Nuru! It is Mama!"
Nothing.
She knocked again.
A faint sound came from inside.
One knock.
A pause.
Two knocks.
Daniel put a hand against the wall.
Somebody was knocking back from the old reading room.