“Yeah? What’s he doing for us?” Slade asks, his question directed at his brother, yet his dark eyes stay glued to me. “Oh,” I say, holding up a finger for them to hang on. I twist around until I find a piece of paper and pen on an end table, write the letters I, O, U on it, and hand it to him. He looks at the paper with bewilderment, turning his glare back up to me.
