Home was Bales Bennett’s house, but Cady’s father was nowhere to be seen. Ness was the one who met us at the door. She looked the ranger up and down, then thanked him for coming all this way. He was probably halfway to town before he realized how handily he’d been dismissed.

“You need food.” Ness issued that statement like a woman declaring martial law. Without waiting for a reply, she turned and headed for what I could only presume was the kitchen.

Saskia stayed outside. I would have preferred to do the same. But people lived in houses, ate at tables. My lungs constricted as the front door closed behind me. I felt trapped. Cornered, no way out—

The smell of chili wafted in from the kitchen. I breathed in and breathed out and tried not to think about the fact that there had been a time when fresh meat had been the only way Cady could lure me indoors. Fighting the déjà vu, I walked slowly toward the kitchen. As I crossed the threshold, I wondered if Ness was the one who’d taught Cady to make chili.

I wondered if she was the one who’d taught my foster mother what it took to bring home a stray.

“Sit. Eat.” Ness didn’t even turn from the stove to see if her words were being obeyed. There was a bowl of chili waiting for me on the kitchen table, along with a double helping of corn bread.

I sat, suddenly aware of how long it had been since I’d had food. Eat slowly, I reminded myself as my fingers latched themselves around the spoon in a death grip. The food is yours. No one is going to take it from you.

“Kira. Sister mine.” Jude appeared in the doorway. He lumbered over to the table and took the seat across from me, blocking my view of Ness and the stove. He was freshly showered and wearing flannel pajamas.

Clearly, he’d made himself right at home.

“The hero triumphant, returned to the fold,” he pronounced, giving an artistic wave of his hand in my direction.

“Would ‘the fold’ like some more chili?” Ness asked wryly, setting a bowl down in front of Jude. Apparently, in the last few hours, she’d come to know him well.

“Where there is food,” Jude declared solemnly, “so, too, there is Jude.”

As he dug in, I felt my own grip on my spoon relax. There was a time when I’d refused to eat at a table—and Jude had eaten on the floor next to me.

“Where’s Free?” I asked. I was fairly certain there was at least one line in the Miscreants’ Creed devoted to the core value of never turning down a second helping.