“Yes, boss.”
I end the call and remain standing in the hallway while the walls of this house suddenly feel narrower than they did a few minutes ago. I take a deep breath and then return to Ivy’s room.
Maggie looks up, concern on her face the second she sees me. “Everything alright?”
“Yes.” The lie comes out easily.
Ivy holds up Saturn proudly. “We fixed it.”
Maggie smiles at me from across the room. A feeling I don’t entirely recognize tightens hard enough to hurt. For the first time in years, I look at this room and want impossible things. That means the moment anyone threatens it, I will become merciless.
“Get washed up,” I tell her. “Dinner is ready.”
I turn on my heels and head to the dining room. By the time I reach the bottom of the stairs, the house has returned to its usual order on the surface. Staff moves quietly through the hall, setting glasses, adjusting silverware, and bringing in covered dishes of roasted chicken, herbs, and warm bread. The dining room glows beneath low light, reflecting gold from the chandelier above the table.
Everything appears as it should. That’s the problem with danger. It rarely announces itself before it enters.
I take my seat at the head of the table but don’t reach for the wine poured beside my plate. My attention remains on the doorway, listening to Ivy’s footsteps upstairs, Winston’s unevenbark, Daisy’s nails tapping against the floor, and Maggie’s voice guiding them both with the easy warmth she gives without thinking.
A few minutes later, Ivy rushes into the dining room with Winston close behind and Daisy moving at a slower pace near her side.
“I washed my hands,” Ivy announces, holding them up for inspection.
I look at them. “And?”
Her nose wrinkles. “And I used soap.”
“Good.”
Maggie appears behind her, smoothing a strand of hair back from her face. “She did. I witnessed the whole event. Very formal. Lots of bubbles.”
Ivy climbs into her chair. “Winston tried to help.”
“Winston licked the sink,” Maggie says.
“He was checking it.”
“He was licking it.”
Ivy considers this, then nods. “Both can be true.”
Maggie laughs as she sits across from me. I force my hand to remain relaxed beside my plate. She has no idea men are watching the shelter now because of me. No idea her name sits inside a folder on my desk beside surveillance photographs. No idea I’m already calculating how much of her life I can protect before she notices the walls moving closer.
Her eyes find mine across the table.
“You sure you’re alright?” she asks quietly.
I hold her eyes. “Yes.”
She doesn’t believe me. That should irritate me more than it does.
Dinner begins with Ivy explaining each planet in her project, including why Neptune required “artistic freedom” and why glitter makes space feel more realistic. Maggie listens like there’s nothing more important in the world, asking questions that make Ivy sit taller in her chair with every answer.
I watch both of them. The easy rhythm between them is becoming familiar. Maggie passes Ivy the bread before she asks. Ivy leans toward her when she laughs. Daisy rests her head near Maggie’s foot, as if she has already chosen a side.
Winston sits beneath the table and growls at a piece of asparagus.
“Security issue?” Maggie asks, glancing down at him.
