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Ivy wraps both arms around my neck. “Miss Hannah says if we do really good today, we get to practice with costumes next week.”

“That’s excellent news.”

She pulls back enough to examine me closely. “You look grumpy.”

Maggie snorts.

I glare at her. “I don’t look grumpy.”

“Papa,” Ivy says patiently, “you always look grumpy.”

Jules arrives beside us, carrying an enormous box labeled CAT TOYS.

“Kid's got a point.”

Ivy beams.

Jules studies me more carefully, and the teasing leaves his face. “What happened?”

Business.

Jules will accept that answer for approximately thirty seconds.

“I need to speak with Jules,” I say.

Maggie's eyes narrow instantly. “About?”

“Shelter security.”

The explanation isn’t entirely false. She still doesn’t believe me.

“I'll be right back,” I tell her.

“Alexei.”

I pause.

“Please don't lie to me,” she says.

I hold her stare for several seconds.

“I’m not lying.”

I’m simply withholding. The distinction matters to me. I suspect Maggie would disagree.

Jules follows me toward the partially rebuilt rear kennels without complaint. The moment we're out of earshot, he stops walking.

“How bad?”

I look toward the main building where Maggie crouches beside one of the rescue dogs while Ivy talks animatedly with a volunteer near the entrance.

“Worse than before.”

Jules goes very still. “Is she in immediate danger?”

“Yes.”

He absorbs that without visible panic. One of the things I respect about Jules is that he rarely wastes time on useless reactions.