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Killian shakes his head, a flash of emotion covering his face.

“No. Do you want me to read to you?” he asks, slinging a wet arm around me. My shoulder dampens, but I lean into him. “I’ll grab my book⁠—”

“Killian,” I drawl, rolling my eyes. “I’m not a baby.”

“Never said you were,” he replies, fighting a grin. “But the mythology books helped you last time.”

They did. But I don’t want to admit I need them to fall back asleep. I’m older; I should be able to do it without the stories.

Crossing my arms, I look to the side. “I don’t need them. If you do, or want to, you could⁠—”

“I do,” he interrupts. “Storms always make me uneasy too.”

Shoulders dropping, I glance up, smiling shyly. “They do?”

“Oh yeah,” he says, voice dry. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

Pops’s voice bangs off the walls as the door rips open. Startled, I jump, and Killian’s arm anchors me to the floor. There’s stomping and a few curses, but he pulls me back around the corner before I can see what happened. Or be in Pops’ warpath.

“He sounds angry,” I mutter, glancing behind us. He closes my bedroom door, locking out the yells. I climb back into bed, fists clenching the comforter. “He’s always mad.”

Killian nods, picking up his discarded book on my dresser.

“There were a few hiccups tonight,” he explains, thumbing the pages. “Ferguson is just irritated at nothing going his way.” He sighs. “He’ll settle down.”

But how long will that take? He’s always yelling, always throwing things. I never want to be like that, ever. I don’t want to scare the people I love.

Lying back, my eyes flutter closed, and I yawn. “Do you know where Maeve is?”

Killian pauses, tapping the page. He doesn’t look at me, but stares out the black window. Thankfully, the thunder has calmed down and only rain pounds against the glass.

“She’s taking care of something. I’ll have her come in and tuck you in when she’s back.”

“Thanks.”

I can’t sleep without Maeve’s final goodnights. It’s become a tradition since before our mom died. I don’t really remember her, but I know my sister. She’s been the only mom I’ve known, and her silent hugs are something I rely on. They keep the monsters away.

Because the monsters are afraid of her.

Killian starts to read gently, but it’s only a few blinks before my breath evens out, and dreams take me away. I’m startled awake by a brush of cold lips, and I jerk, though my eyes stay closed.

“What did you tell him?” Maeve. Her voice is tired, drained. Did Pops have her out in the rain again? He shouldn’t be making her do that.

“Settle down, Princess,” Killian murmurs. The covers are tucked tightly around me. “He doesn’t know anything.”

“Good. Keep it that way.”

My door opens, the light hitting me in the face with the blinding intensity of the morning sun. Squinting, I roll over, burying my head under the pillow.

There’s a shuffling before Killian asks, “Did you take care of it?”

“Obviously,” she snaps. “She’s in the burn pit.”

“Don’t I get a thank you for helping you move the body?”

Body? I peek my eyes out. Killian stands in the doorway, hand on Maeve’s wrist. My sister glares up into his face, cheeks red. She’s drenched, dark hair slicked over her shoulders, black leather jacket shiny with water. Yet, she doesn’t cower from him, like most people do.

“No.” She whips away, but Killian calls out.