Page 80 of Joker

But the realization follows me inside anyway.

Raven and Lexi aren’t just under this roof.

They’re under mine.

And I’m already acting like it.

It happens at night.

Everything dangerous always seems to find me after the world quiets down just enough for me to feel it.

The clubhouse has settled into that late-hour rhythm I’m still learning, where most of the noise has dulled but never fully disappears. The kids are asleep. Lexi went down easier tonight, her body finally trusting the pattern of this place enough to give in without a fight. Bunny is tucked under her arm, her breathing deep and steady, her face soft in a way that still catches me off guard every time I see it.

I should be sleeping. I’m not. I tried. I lay there long enough to know it wasn’t going to happen, my body restless in that quiet, familiar way where exhaustion and alertness fight for control and neither fully wins.

So I got up.

Now I’m standing on the back porch, barefoot again, wrapped in the night air and the soft hum of the clubhouse behind me. The wood is cool under my feet. The sky is dark and open above the tree line, stars scattered in a way that feels almost unreal compared to the closed-in life I’ve been living.

I lean against the railing and breathe.

In. Out. Slow.

Trying to let the quiet settle somewhere deeper than just the surface. It almost works. Until the door opens behind me.

I don’t turn right away. I don’t have to. I know who it is.

The shift in the air is immediate. Familiar now. Recognizable in a way that should concern me more than it does.

Joker steps out onto the porch, the door closing softly behind him. I can feel him there before I see him, the space tightening in that subtle, charged way that’s been building between us over the last few days.

He doesn’t say anything at first.

Neither do I.

We stand there in silence, the distance between us small enough to feel, large enough to still be respected. It doesn’t feel awkward.

It feels…loaded.

“You sleep?” he asks after a minute.

I let out a quiet breath. “Tried.”

“Didn’t take?”

“No.”

He moves closer, not crowding, just enough that I’m aware of him at my side now instead of behind me. Close enough that I can feel the heat of him without touching. Close enoughthat every inch of space between us starts to matter in a way that’s becoming harder to ignore. “You’ll get there,” he says.

I glance at him. “That sounds like experience.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Something like that.”

There’s more there. I can hear it. Feel it.

But he doesn’t offer it freely, and I don’t push.

Not yet.