Page 27 of Paws & Order

Except maybe Zadok.

But he's probably got a betting pool already in motion.

"What's your take?" Cassian asks.

He doesn't look up, but I can tell he's watching me in the reflection of the microwave door, subtle as a full moon.

I don't answer right away because I'm distracted by the faint hint of citrus—something left over from the cleaner I used on the counters last night, or maybe a new clue, given the recent trend.

"Either I have a secret twin with a penchant for antique coins and exotic bulbs, or someone out there thinks they're very funny."

I pour myself coffee from the tiny French press—a housewarming gift from Cassian, which he immediately declared "insufficient for a proper homicide investigation."

Says a lot about both of us, honestly.

He grunts and lines up the origami crane beside the coins, which now occupy an entire section of my salt-stained cutting board.

"I'll do another sweep before dusk and check with Enoch after his nap. Until then, you're not leaving this apartment."

The protective streak again.

Blunt enough to edge a steak knife.

There was a time when I might've resented the command.

Today it sounds almost companionable.

"So I'm under house arrest with a were-cop. Didn't see that on my bingo card this month."

I trail my finger through the ring left by my mug, a kid's imitation of a magic circle.

"You're more freaked out than I am."

"I'm not?—"

He stops himself.

Then starts over.

"Nobody's getting through the night shift if there's a hole in your wall and something creeping around inside it."

I think about last night.

The windless hush before bed.

The certainty that I was being watched by something more than insomnia.

He's right.

But still.

"What's your plan if nothing else happens?"

Cassian shrugs.

The motion lasts less than a heartbeat.

"Hope you get bored and go back to planning the next holiday parade."