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“Yes.”

“The same house I broke into?”

Violet's head snaps toward us. “You what?”

“Not now,” Callie and I say at the same time.

“Can you tell we’re related?” Violet mutters.

I hear her words, but don’t acknowledge them.

I point toward the hallway. “Pack.”

Callie doesn't move. “Don’t order me around.”

“Then stop making me repeat myself.”

Her eyes narrow.

Mine do, too.

Alibi sits between us. He looks delighted, but only because he’s staring at the iPad.

“Fine,” Callie says.

Some of the tension leaves my shoulders.

Then she points a finger at me. “I'll stay with you.”

More tension leaves.

“But I'm not a prisoner.”

“I didn't say you were.”

“You're acting like I'm one.”

“No. If you were a prisoner, this conversation would be a lot shorter.”

Her mouth drops open. Violet makes a choking noise that might be a laugh. I ignore both of them.

“No posting your location.”

Callie's mouth closes. She crosses her arms.

“No stories showing where you are. No tagging businesses while you're still there. No walking Alibi alone after dark. If you leave the house, you tell me where you're going.”

Her eyebrows rise higher with every sentence.

“No going anywhere alone if you can avoid it. You see Mercer again, you don't approach him. You don't follow him. You don't take a picture. You don't try to figure out where he's going.”

“I already know that.”

“Good.”

“And I need to know where you are.”

“No.”