Colin did not sleep.
He sat at the kitchen table with his bandaged hand around a cup of tea that had gone cold an hour ago, and he listened to the house breathe. He wanted Absinthe, but refrained from it. Something was coming, and he wanted to be ready.
Riley had gone up at midnight without taking off her shoes. He could hear her footsteps on the landing, slow and careful, the way a person walks when they are trying not to wake the whole house. The boys were quiet.
Fall lay across the back door with his head on his paws, and every so often one ear twitched toward the garden.
He had promised her the truth in the morning, and he had meant it. But truth was a heavy thing to set down on a kitchen table, and he had been turning the words over all night, looking for a way to say them that would not make her run.
