Page 136 of Pack Baby for the Silver Foxes

I looked at her. “Don’t sister me right now.”

“I was breathing.”

“You were looking at me judgmentally.”

Hudson didn’t smile. He was looking at me. “What do you paint?” he asked.

“Whatever sits still long enough.”

“She paints landscapes,” Maeve said. “And people when she thinks they’re not looking. She used to paint the orchard in Ireland until Da told her art was a hobby for children.”

The room went quiet.

Fergus chose that moment to emerge from beneath the desk without the slipper.

Maeve lunged.

He dodged.

“I don’t want much,” I said, staring at the fire. “I want the babies safe. I want you both. And I want to paint sometimes without feeling like I should be doing something more useful.”

Lincoln exhaled.

Hudson’s hand found mine. “Then that’s what we build,” he said.

Artem studied him. “In London?”

“In London,” Hudson replied.

Lincoln nodded. “With upgraded security.”

“And no helicopter access,” Gregor said.

“We have a roof terrace, not a helipad,” Hudson said.

Ivan typed something. “I can make it very difficult for helicopters to get close to you.”

“Legitimately?” Hudson asked.

Ivan smiled. “Define that.”

Maeve finally retrieved the slipper from under the desk and held it up. It had one small tooth mark.

“Fergus,” she said, betrayed.

Fergus sat beside Gregor’s boot and looked innocent.

For the first time since the helicopter, my breathing felt like it belonged to me.

Maeve sat back beside me, slipper in hand.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “About London?”

I looked around the room at Artem, who had once been meant to own me and had refused. At Ivan, already building invisible walls. At Gregor, pretending not to feed Fergus something from his pocket despite his guilt. And at my sister Maeve, who had found safety here and wanted me to have it too.

Then I looked at Hudson and Lincoln.

“I used to like living here,” I said to Maeve. “And I did paint the best landscapes here.”