Page 21 of Joker

Then his attention shifts to Raven, and something in his whole face changes. Not softer exactly. A man like Grinder probably hasn’t done soft in thirty years. But human. More father than president. He steps in close and puts one hand on the back of her head, pressing a kiss to the brim of her cap.

Raven’s composure fractures just slightly. Not enough to fall apart. Just enough that I see how hard she’s been holding it together.

“You call when you get there,” he says quietly.

She nods.

“If anything feels off—”

“I know.” Her voice is rougher now.

He exhales through his nose, jaw flexing, and looks like it costs him something not to keep going.

Then he takes Lexi from her long enough to hold the kid close. “Be good for Mama, sugar.”

Lexi rubs Bunny’s ear between her fingers and presses her sleepy face into his neck. “Okay, Papa.”

The sight of a man like Grinder swallowing emotion in front of a child he clearly adores does something unpleasant to the atmosphere.

I look away first.

When he hands Lexi back to Raven, the little girl clings harder and buries her face in her mother’s shoulder again. Raven adjusts her automatically, one hand at the base of Lexi’s back, the other holding onto that worn little backpack like it contains something more valuable than clothes.

Maybe it does. Maybe every object a kid chooses to keep when their life is unstable becomes priceless.

I grab the duffel and backpack and push the back door open.

Night has fully settled outside.

Good.

Darkness is useful. Darkness means fewer faces, fewer clear memories, fewer chances for anyone to notice a woman and a child getting loaded into a truck by a man they won’t want to remember.

The lot behind the clubhouse is dimly lit, enough to move safely, not enough to advertise details. Crickets are loud in the tree line. Humidity hangs heavy in the air, wrapping around us the second we step outside.

I load the bags into the backseat behind the passenger side first, leaving the floor clear enough for whatever Raven wants near her. The kid’s backpack I set within easy reach, I have a feeling the entire truck will become uninhabitable.

Raven lingers by the back door a second too long, eyes flicking across the lot, the tree line, the gate, every dark corner in sight.

Scanning.

That tells me more than any explanation Grinder could’ve given.

I open the passenger door for her without comment.

Her eyes flick to mine, surprise there again, like she didn’t expect the gesture. Then she climbs in carefully with Lexi still half-asleep against her, buckling the kid into the middle seat instead of a car seat because there isn’t one.

That detail bothers me.

I don’t know why.

Probably because a woman on the run doesn’t leave behind something as basic as a child’s car seat unless she left in a hurry or got moved too fast to think through the small stuff. Or unless the car seat is still sitting in a driveway somewhere attached to a life she didn’t get to leave cleanly.

Again, ugly thought.

Again, I don’t like it.

Lexi makes a sleepy little sound when Raven settles Bunny into her lap and buckles her in. The kid’s fingers stay hooked in one floppy ear like she’s afraid even that might disappear if she loosens her grip.