Page 99 of Redline Baby

"This is Buttercup," she says. "She's the fastest horse in the world."

"Faster than Vera?"

Rue pauses and weighs the question seriously.

"Buttercup doesn't need gas."

"That's a genuinely excellent point. Fuel efficiency wins."

I lean against the doorway and watch this happen for a minute. Kit is sprawled cross-legged on Maren's rug in his good jacket, entirely unbothered by the indignity of it, taking a six-year-old's opinions on horse physics with total sincerity.

Something in my chest goes warm and a little unsteady.

"Uncle Soren," Rue calls without looking up from the folder, "did you know Kit talks to motorcycles?"

"I did not know that specific detail, no."

"He apologizes to the tires."

"That tracks completely."

Kit glances up at me, grinning and faintly pink around the ears, and mouths she's so cute over the top of Rue's head.

I shrug back at him, unbothered, because he's clearly already lost this particular battle and doesn't seem to mind losing it at all.

Maren pokes her head in from the kitchen.

"Five minutes, you two. Rue, wash your hands."

"I'm showing Kit the submarine."

"You can show him the submarine after you wash your hands."

Rue heaves the long-suffering sigh with theatrical care, and pats the submarine once like she's tucking it in for a nap.

"Don't let anyone touch it," she tells Kit as she stands.

"I will guard it with my life."

She thunders off toward the bathroom. Kit looks up at me from the floor, still grinning and a little wrecked in the good way.

"I think I just got recruited as a submarine bodyguard."

"Congratulations. It's an unpaid position, but the benefits are excellent."

"Yeah?"

He reaches a hand up. I take it and pull him to his feet, and he doesn't let go immediately once he's standing. He stays there for a second, close, his thumb brushing once over my knuckles.

"She likes you."

"I like her. She's got very strong opinions for someone who's three feet tall."

"She gets that from Maren."

"I was gonna say she gets that from you, actually, but sure. Blame your sister."

Maren calls from the kitchen that lunch is ready. Kit finally lets go of my hand, and we head for the table together. I catch him glancing back once at the folder on the rug, making sure it's exactly where Rue left it, like the promise actually mattered to him.