“I know that too.”
The paper shakes in my hand.
I hate that.
I press it flat against the counter. “They know where we are.”
“Yes.”
“They came close enough to touch your bike.”
“Yes.”
“They could have come to the house.”
“The prospects didn’t see anybody, and I checked every window, every lock, the tree line, the garage, everything. Whoever left it knew how to move quiet or got lucky during the shift change.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“Wasn’t meant to.”
I look at him sharply.
He lifts both hands. “Right. Comfort. I forgot.”
Despite everything, a tiny laugh breaks loose.
It’s awful timing.
Derby’s mouth twitches.
The laugh dies quickly, but the air changes enough for me to breathe again.
I look back at the bulletin. “Families belong to God, not outlaws.”
“My opinion? Families belong to whoever keeps the monsters off the porch.”
I look up.
His face is hard.
Not joking.
Not performing.
That sentence settles somewhere low in my chest.
“Do you regret last night?” I ask.
He blinks.
Clearly not the question he expected.
“The bulletin?” he asks.
“No.”
His eyes darken.