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And they don’t know.

Right?

“I’m starving,” Wendy declares when we bang into the kitchen. From the shop, Nana pads in, bright-eyed and waggy-tailed that her favorite human is back.

“That’s a statement,” I say, and cringe a little. That’s what Gram used to say whenever I’d declare “I’m hungry” or “I’m bored.” Back when she was with it enough to respond to me in a way that made sense, anyway.

“I just mean…” I gesture at the cabinets and fridge. “Knock yourself out. I think Fox bought a bunch of sandwich stuff I’m sure you could have.”

Wendy nods. “Do I have to do anything else today?”

I laugh a little. “Like what? Take a meeting, or something?”

She makes a face. “I just meant, like, chores or whatever.”

“When have you ever done a chore around here?”

Wendy considers. “Okay, yeah.” She skips over to the fridge. “I’m gonna eat and then watch TV. Bye!”

Bye? Is she dismissing me from my own kitchen?

Then again, I realize, it’s a better attitude than she was showing me the other day. So I can’t complain. Maybe she’s forgiven me for the whole…trying to help her thing. Or maybe just gotten over it.

Out in the shop, the bell on the front door ding-ding-dings, and I wander in.

It’s Blue. Alone.

He doesn’t greet me. Not exactly. But he does meet my eyes and nod on his way to his station, where he messes around with his piercing tools, doing who knows what. Being meticulous. Being Blue.

My memory flashes back to Zuzu’s office.

Blue knows. But the rest of them don’t. And I don’t want them to.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” I blurt out.

He doesn’t look up.

“Of course,” is all he says. “Here, or⁠—”

“Alone.”

Now he looks up. Eyebrow raised.

“Sure.”

He tips his head toward the stairs, and I set off without waiting for him. Somehow, without him saying anything, I know he meant not just the second floor, but his room, and so I stride right through the landing, past the kitchenette, to his door, which⁠—

—which is locked. Of course.

I move to get out of the way, but Blue’s right on my heels and crowds in behind me, one hand on the knob, one thumb on his keypad, his body a hard wall just a quarter-inch from mine.

The keypad blinks. The lock whirrs. He pushes, and the door opens.

“After you,” his voice rumbles. And I realize I haven’t moved.

I step in, across the threshold from the harsh hallway light to the dim near-blackness that is Blue’s room, and take a few more steps for good measure. Blue follows, shuts the door, and swivels the lock, which clicks gently into place.

Silence. No: quiet. Calm, pretty much.