He meant well, but Charlie walked away thinking about needing comfort later, and by the time she reached her room, she’d realized her life wasn’t country music, it was Götterdämmerung. Her one true love was a seventeen-year-old half dragon she’d never be able to play naked love nest with—except for in vaguely religious scenarios under the supervision of her entire family—who’d gone missing and the best case scenario involved him arranging to be emotionally tortured for four years by basketball loving escapees from the Silmarillion. Meanwhile, she’d set up a third act with the leads still in diapers and the harmonies provided by someone she didn’t entirely trust. Not to mention there was a good chance the finale would involve an asteroid impact large enough to shake and bake the planet.

The background music soared into Brunhilda’s Immolation Scene.

“I’m not making this up, you know,” Charlie muttered, opening the bedroom door.

To her surprise, Katie was sitting cross-legged on the bed wearing a black tank and orange pajama pants covered in black witches’ hats.

Charlie toed off her boots and kicked them into the corner. “I’m sleeping on the roof. I came in to change.”

“Really? On the roof?” Katie set her tablet on the bedside table, stretched, and stood. “It’s almost the end of October. You’ll know when Jack comes back regardless, so get into bed.”

“Katie . . .”

“I know, it’s like every other note has been silenced, right? Every other string taken off your guitar? Every other hole plugged in your piccolo?”

“Katie . . .”

“You shouldn’t be alone. More alone,” Katie amended before Charlie could speak.

Truth be told, she didn’t want to be alone. More alone. “If you steal the covers . . .”

She slept an hour or two at a time, woke to the hollow pain of Jack’s absence, and allowed Katie’s even breathing to lull her back to sleep for another hour or two. Second verse, same as the first. Jack wasn’t back when dawn painted the bedroom in pale grays, so she slid out of bed, grabbed her quilt, and headed for the roof. She watched the sun come up, listened to the traffic below on 9th, refused to surrender to the scent of Mexican dark that wafted up every time the door to the coffee shop opened, and she waited.

“Allie says no one’s getting French toast until you come in, so get your ass down to breakfast.”

Charlie shuffled around until she could peer over the edge of the quilt at Graham. As every Gale who successfully made it to adulthood knew, French toast was significantly harder to charm than pancakes. Her stomach growled as she gathered the quilt around her and stood. She could wait inside for a while.