“I’ll have the same,” Branagh adds.
“Excellent,” I say. “Why don’t you both take a seat?”
They sit at the kitchen counter while Jessa joins me in the kitchen. She’s being suspiciously quiet and I don’t like it. All it takes is one wrong look to raise the alarms again.
“You okay, sweetheart?” I ask, placing my hand on the small of her back.
She looks up at me. “I… I…”
“Yes?” I ask, digging my fingertips into her back. Not enough to hurt her. Just enough to remind her: Play by my rules, or people get hurt.
The two big things on my mind are not stacking up in anything resembling priority order. Not a normal, rational priority, at least.
Because I should be fairly fixated on the fact that the cold-blooded killer next to me just threatened to bring that campaign of violence to my parents
