“I swear I’m not an idiot,” Bellamy whispers, squeezing my hand. We’re a touchy family. And yes, we are a family, even if sometimes Bellamy prefers to pretend we aren’t. He pretends less and less with each week that passes. Fox reaches past me and flicks Bellamy’s nose. “We don’t disparage ourselves,” he grunts. We save that for the people we murder. Fox reads my text and kisses the side of my head. “That’s right.”
