After a while, Mari and Annie come knocking on my door. Mari pokes her curly blonde head in, squinting toward the window. The moon reflects off Killian’s silver coat. He paces the porch, and his howls have become more plaintive. Almost grumbly. “How long is he going to do this?” she whispers. “I don’t know,” I whisper back. “Should we let him in?” “No!” Kennedy shouts from the other room. “Or at least gimme a minute!” “She’s hiding her consoles,” Annie explains, squeezing past Mari to come sit on the edge of my bed. I scoot over. “We’re not letting him in,” I reassure her.
