“Up here,” Fiona said.

King turned toward the bedroom door. Fiona, dressed in her black pajamas and black socks, stood on top of it, her back pressed into the upper corner of the room. Her black hair had been pulled back into a tight bun and she wore a black bandanna over her mouth. She held a dart gun in her hands. He recognized it as one of two bright-orange dart guns they had bought, but it had been painted black.

Stan Tremblay, call sign Rook, shouted from the living room. “Sorry, King. Couldn’t stop her. I’m out!”

“Where’s my gun?” King asked.

“In the closet with the rest,” Rook replied.

“Bye, Rook!” Fiona shouted.

“Later, kid! Oh, and sorry about the kitchen floor, King.” The front door opened and closed a moment later.

There were a thousand parental things King knew he should say at that moment. You could have broken your neck if you’d fallen from the door. You had me worried sick. We don’t aim guns at people. And there were just as many nonstandard chew-outs. What if I was armed? I could have shot you. I could have shot Rook.

But he didn’t say any of that. Instead he said what he really thought. “That was pretty good.”

“Pretty good?” Fiona said, her voice full of mischief. “You just got taken out by a girl. And I’m not even a teenager yet. I’d say it was amazing.”

He could see her smiling with pride behind the mask. It was an infectious smile, which he was grateful for because it hid his true feelings. He had just been taken out by a twelve-year-old girl. The very girl he’d sworn to protect. Was he so distracted by Fiona’s presence in his life that he might actually fail to protect her?

She saw his distraction and brought him back to the current situation. “So, are you going to get me down or what?”

“You’re the ninja,” King said. “You get down on your own.”

He started to leave the room. “Rook put me up here.”

King gave a shrug, his smile spreading wider. “Taking out a target is useless if you haven’t planned your escape.” Halfway out the door, King felt a tug on his hair. A sudden weight on his back followed. Fiona had leaped from the door onto his back. She clung to him sideways with one arm and one leg wrapped over his shoulders. His protest was drowned out by her wild laughter.

King held on to her limbs and stepped back into the bedroom. He fell back onto the bed, careful to keep most of his weight off of her. He held her there, pinned and laughing. “King is awesome,” he said.

“What?” she asked between laughs.

“King is awesome. Say it.”

“Keep dreaming, Dad!”

That’s when the laughter faded. She knew he didn’t like to be called “dad,” but she’d also been unable to fall asleep that night because she knew about the court hearing. She had yet to learn the results.