Page 89 of Joker

That one hits stranger. Because it’s the first thing he’s asked that sounds like a father instead of a president.

“She’s sleeping some,” I tell him. “Kid’s doing alright.”

He exhales once, rough through the phone. “Good.”

The whole call lasts less than two minutes. It needs to.

Men like us aren’t built for long emotional updates, and there’s too much weight under the surface of this one already. Still, when I hang up, the conversation leaves a bad taste in my mouth for reasons I’m not especially excited to examine.

Because Grinder calling me directly is a reminder of facts I’ve been doing a real convenient job of pushing to the side.

Raven is his daughter. Lexi is his granddaughter. They’re here because he trusted the chapter, not because he handed them to me personally and said do whatever the fuck you want. And if he ever clocks exactly where my head is starting to go when it comes to them, he’ll probably remove my balls with farm equipment and sleep just fine after.

More importantly, Raven isn’t supposed to be here long term.

That’s the deal.

Temporary stay. Temporary safety. Until something more permanent gets figured out.

I know that.

Have known it from the start. Doesn’t mean shit though.

Not anymore.

That truth settles in while the phone is still warm in my hand, ugly and undeniable.

I pocket it and head back inside before I can dwell on what a terrible idea all of this is becoming.

Late afternoon, I find them in the side yard.

Raven is sitting in one of the old Adirondack chairs under the shade tree, one leg tucked under her, dark hair pulled over one shoulder, Lexi tucked against her side with Bunny in her lap and a book open across both their knees. The kid is half-listening, half-pointing at the pages and making up her own version, which Raven is apparently allowing because she looks more amused than annoyed.

The scene is soft enough to punch holes in a man.

I stop dead at the edge of the porch. Not because they’ve seen me. Because for one sharp, ugly second, the thought of somebody taking them lands with the full force of something real.

Not abstract danger. Not “keep an eye out.” Not a problem for the chapter to handle if it shows up.

No.

I see it.

A car door slamming. A hand too quick. Raven looking up too late. Lexi crying out.

Gone.

The panic that slices through me is so sudden and so violent I actually feel my pulse jump in my throat. That gets my attention fast. Because I don’t panic.

Not like that.

I assess. I plan. I move. Panic is for men who don’t know what to do next.

But this?

This is different. This is my body reacting to the idea before my brain has a chance to put it into proper words.

I force myself to breathe once. Slow. Controlled.