WE CHANGED BACK WHEN we reached Connor’s, and Ethan jogged into the lead before creeping along the garden close to the wall.
I tugged on his arm. “Let me go in front.”
He pointed at his necklace and his still-sported triangle on his stomach. “Who do you think is better protected here?”
With no decent argument, I gave in, and we arrived at the back door in a crouch.
Ethan raised his head high enough to peer through the glass panel. “Empty,” he whispered.
“Try the handle.”
As he pushed upright, he waved me out of the way and positioned himself at the side of the door. He pressed down on the handle, frowning when the door nudged open. Nose pointed toward the created gap, he inhaled. When he withdrew, he beckoned to me. “If they’re not here now, they definitely have been,” he whispered.
