I pick at my thumbnail. “I’m a really shitty intergalactic detective. I thought I had a baby.” I speak so softly; I doubt he hears. “I would’ve never guessed he was Moffy’s. He would’ve been last on my list.” “You’re not a shitty intergalactic detective,” he tells me, which jars me in surprise. “I’d hire you.” “For all your interstellar troubles?” “I’ve got plenty of those.”
