I can’t help but smile back. There’s something infectious about his joy.
“Good to see you, my boy,” Falkor says, his voice warm and welcoming. His kind eyes shift to me, and he nods respectfully. “It’s the lovely young nurse who gave me my shot. How are you? I hope you’re good.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. My throat feels tight with emotion all of a sudden.
“What brings you to my door?” Falkor asks, still grinning from ear to ear. “This is an unexpected but very welcome surprise. Come in. Come in. I’m so rude.”
My stomach drops. He doesn’t know. He hasn’t seen the news. Any second now, Grim is going to tell him the truth, and Falkor is going to slam the door in our faces. Call Draig Security. Turn us in.
I brace myself for it.
“Before we go inside,” Grim says, his voice careful, “we have a favor to ask.Ihave a favor to ask, and it’s a big one.” He holds Falkor’s gaze. “I won’t mind if you turn us down.”
“Anything,” Falkor says. “Just name it. Really, why don’t you come inside? I insist. We can talk about it.”
He steps back, opening the door wider in invitation.
I glance at Grim, uncertainty crawling through me. Is this a good idea?
“Okay, then,” Grim says. I look back over his shoulder.
The interior of Falkor’s house matches the exterior: worn but not quite falling apart. The wallpaper is faded and peeling at the edges. The hardwood floors are scratched and scuffed from yearsof use. A ceiling fan wobbles slightly as it spins, clicking with each rotation.
The windows are grimy, filtering the afternoon sunlight into something soft and hazy. I’m sure there is a ton of dust under the furniture, and the drapes could do with a good wash.
But despite the disrepair, there’s warmth here. The furniture is well-loved. Family photos line the mantel above a small fireplace. A crocheted blanket drapes over the back of the couch in cheerful colors.
It’s a real home. And suddenly I ache for my own place, for normalcy, for a life that doesn’t involve running and hiding.
There is a used coffee cup on the table, and the cushions on the sofa are rumpled. There’s a coat slung over the back of one of the chairs, and there is a pile of unopened mail on the floor next to the front door.
“Excuse the mess,” Falkor says, a hint of embarrassment coloring his voice. “It’s hard for me at my age to keep up with it all. Things just seem to pile up, you know?”
“It’s fine,” I say quickly, wanting to ease his discomfort. “Your home is lovely.”
His face lights up. “You’re very kind, dear.” He gestures toward the couch. “Please, sit. Can I get you something to drink? A tea, a coffee…or…”
“We’re good, thanks,” Grim says.
Falkor looks at me.
“I’m fine, thanks,” I tell him.
I sit on the edge of the nearest sofa, feeling tense. My hands twist together in my lap.
Grim remains standing. I watch as he takes a breath, steeling himself.
“Falkor, we need somewhere to stay,” he says. “Just for a few days.”
Falkor’s face lights up immediately. “Of course! You’re more than—”
“Don’t agree just yet,” Grim interrupts, holding up a hand. “You need to know the truth before you accept us into your home.”
My heart starts pounding. For half a second, I want to dissuade Grim from telling Falkor anything, but since it’s the right thing to do, I keep quiet.
“I’m wanted by Draig Security,” Grim says, his voice hard. “They’re saying I committed terrible crimes.”
“How terrible?” Falkor says, looking shocked.
