But setting up that attack with the fence guns took work. Yarrow printed a gun. He planned this. He plotted to murder us all. Gentle Yarrow. We were so blissfully bored with each other. I knew every part of his mind. Even now, when he might have just killed our dad, my heart says that we can talk it out. That the right words will fix this. That if we sit for long enough, back-to-back, he’ll be okay. I don’t think that’s true, but my heart says it is, all the same.
