Page 166

“He doesn't sleep much.”

“Neither does Taylor,” Will says.

“Neither do you.”

“I was asleep.”

“You're sitting in the kitchen.”

“Pastries.”

Apparently that explains everything.

I hear footsteps.

Taylor walks in.

I close my eyes.

“No.”

He stops.

“What?”

“There are already two of you.”

He sees the trays.

“Three.”

Arthur moves over.

Taylor sits.

I stare at them.

“You're supposed to be highly trained protectors.”

“We are,” Taylor says.

“Then protect something.”

Arthur points toward the oven.

“We are.”

I laugh.

I can't help it.

And the sound feels strange.

Good strange.

I turn back to the pastry.

For a while, nobody talks.