Something clicks in my mind. The pattern comes into focus with sudden clarity: Caine is orchestrating everything so that I'm not needed. And he's blocking anyone from getting close to me.
Ron scratches at his cheek, watching them all. "He's just trying to help," he whispers, following my gaze to where Caine is demonstrating how to shuffle cards to Sara. "But you look like you're gonna punch him."
"What? No, I'm enjoying the peace." But the words come out through gritted teeth.
I uncross my arms, not realizing I'd been holding myself so rigidly. I should be grateful. Caine is being attentive, gentle with the kids, helpful around the camper. But it feels smothering, like he's wrapped me in cotton and placed me in a display case.
The air conditioner cycles off again, the third time in the last five minutes. I glance at the temperature display—it's dropped outside, and with the sun going down, we're wasting battery power.
