“I’m serious—”
“Whatever.”
Rosabelle, meanwhile, doesn’t seem to be listening. I catch her looking intensely at Adam, who’s just standing there, staring at us, paralyzed.
“This is the girl?” Adam says, his eyes on me. “This is the girl who slit your throat?”
“You’ve never seen her before?”
“No. I mean, yes, obviously.” He shakes his head. “Just—not like this. Not in, like, a normal environment.”
“Well.” I offer him a flat smile. “This is Rosabelle.”
“Isn’t she supposed to be in prison?”
“That’s old news,” says Winston. “Where have you been, anyway? I haven’t seen you in days.”
“I was”—he blinks, absently shaking the keys in his hands—“we took the kids on a road trip—”
“So can I borrow the truck?” Nazeera asks.
“Whoa, wait, slow down,” I say. “We’re not going anywhere or doing anything until I feed Rosabelle.”
Rosabelle stiffens beside me.
I look at her, expecting her to protest, but she only stares at me with unguarded astonishment. When she finally looks away without a fight, it actually scares me a little.
She must be starving.
“Sounds good to me,” says Winston. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“You want to come with us?” Nazeera says to Adam. “We’re getting waffles.” She hesitates, then checks in with Winston. “Right? Are we still doing breakfast for dinner? Or do you want pizza?”
“You’re just—” Adam falters. “Are you joking? You’re just going to take her out to dinner?”
“Warner didn’t say we had to keep her locked up in the house,” Nazeera points out. “She’s pretty contained in The Waffle, and we have to feed her eventually.”
“Yeah, you heard James,” Winston says. “We have to feed her. Get her energy levels back up so she can finish murdering everyone.”
“She’s not going to murder anyone,” I say sharply. Then, hesitating, I look at Rosabelle. “Right?”
She nods.
“See?” Winston points at her. “She says no murdering. Let’s go. I’m starving. Tomorrow, we’re getting groceries.”
“And a couch,” Nazeera says. She looks at Adam. “Hey, can I keep your truck for a few days?”
“What the fuck kind of parallel universe have I just walked into?” he says, reeling. “Isn’t she a psychopath?”
“No,” I say. “She’s an assassin. Big difference.”
“Minor difference,” says Winston.
Adam blanches. “Oh my God,” he says, pushing his hands through his hair. “It’s happening again. I can’t believe I have to live through this again—”
“Yeah.” Winston claps him on the shoulder. “Sorry. Try again next lifetime.”
“How can you just take her out in public?” Adam says, his hands falling to his sides. “What if people recognize her? What if people realize who she is?”
