Before the rational side of my brain can stop me, I dash forward, past the guy with the gun, in Logan’s direction. The doorbell jingles when I cross the threshold.

“Mia! There you are!” I try to communicate to her with my eyebrows that she should play along. Her eyes are wide with terror.

I half turn to face the guy, who has a quizzical look on his face. “Oh my goodness, I’m so glad you found her!” I lay it on thick. All the charm that doesn’t come naturally. All the innocence I lost two years ago. “Thank you. I don’t know how to thank you.”

I get to my feet again, so I can effectively block Logan from view—and from the line of his gun. I raise my hands in an excessive shrug, like I’m apologizing for her. “My sister is special. She’s meant to stay home with me and our aunt, but our aunt got sick, and I lost sight of Mia. She went wandering. I think she wanted to find some food for us, because you know how it goes. We don’t have much. If our aunt’s illness is”—I drop my voice but continue to ramble—“If it’s the plague, we’ll have nowhere to go. I think she was worried that there wouldn’t be any food left. We’ve been hungry before and she doesn’t understand it.”

At my barrage of words, the guy slowly starts lowering his gun. I hope we look harmless to him. Two white girls, underfed and fearful. We wouldn’t hurt a fly, right? I hope he isn’t the type of guy who knows everyone in a small town.

I reach out behind me to give Logan a hand up. She clings to me with one hand and to her backpack with the other. Her expression is one of determination and hurt.

“We promise we don’t want to be difficult. She definitely didn’t mean to steal. She just…” I wince like I’m uncomfortable. I lean toward the guy again, like I’m letting him in on a secret. Logan squeezes my hand. “She doesn’t understand the difference. She doesn’t mean any harm, but she’s been so scared. We all are. And I’m so glad that you found her and she’s safe. I wouldn’t know what to do if she fell ill too.”

The guy opens his mouth and closes it. The way his eyes dart back and forth now, he’s deciding we’re far more trouble than we’re worth. But he’s still holding on to the gun, and he’s still dangerous.

In the silence that follows, Logan coughs. It sounds so natural, so real, that even I freeze up. The guy does the same. He takes a step back, despite his claim that he’s already survived the plague.

“Mia! Are you okay?” I swing to her, like the worried older sister that I pretend to be. I reach out a hand to touch her face—though I don’t quite get close enough to do so, because it would make her uncomfortable. Out of eyesight from the guy, though with a shadow in her eyes, Logan very slowly and very purposefully winks.