“It is, but you get used to it.” I don’t add that it’s not half as exhausting as the sleepless nights after completing a mission when you can’t get the adrenaline down even though you’re home and safe. Those nights are the worst. It’s why I could so easily recognize how on edge Carolina is.

“Thanks. For the pillow fight.” She smiles at me. “I’m going to make a hot chocolate before you turn the alarms on and while you check downstairs. Do you want one?”

“That would be great, thanks.”

As she makes the hot chocolate, I check the house, and then I slide open the patio doors to check on the dogs. I make sure they have water. They have kennels out here in the garden. They come over to me, tails wagging as if they’re ordinary pets. At one word, they’ll rip an intruder to shreds.

Tomorrow, I’ll introduce Carolina to them.

“Brutus needs his nighttime pee.”

I turn around at her voice to see her walking toward me, Brutus by her side. “Oh fuck.” She stops short and stares at the dogs, who stare at her, their wagging tails suddenly standing tall behind them.

I give them the command in German for friend. Meaning they are to let her pass at all times. Their body language relaxes, then I pick Brutus up and carry him to them. I let each of the dogs sniff him and get to know him.

“Don’t put him down. They might hurt him,” Carolina says, her voice shaky.

“They’re highly trained, and they won’t harm him. But if you feel better, we can let him do his business on the front lawn.”

“Yeah. They’re big.”

I hand Brutus to her and bend down. “Good girls,” I tell them as I give them both a head pat.

Closing the doors, I lock up, and activate the alarm. These patio doors are the most vulnerable entry point into the house and now have an alarm fitted to alert me if anyone opens them.

I shadow Carolina as she lets the thing she calls a dog out, and then I lock up once more and check the alarm. She darts into the kitchen as we pass by and hands me a steaming mug. I take the hot chocolate and follow her up the stairs.

Brutus manages to defy all laws of physics as his tiny legs propel him onto Carolina’s high king bed.

“Does he wander around the house at night?” I’m sensing a flaw in my plans. The thing could wake me up repeatedly.

She smiles at him and ruffles his ears. “No, he sleeps with his mummy all night; don’t you, baby boy?”

The dog ignores her, but she answers him as if he replied.

“Yes, yes you do. You’re the bestest good boy.”

“What is he?” I ask her.

“He’s a Pomchi.”