Page 166 of The Protector’s Daughter

“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.