His confusion? He sincerely thought she was delusional. Then it hit her: he really wanted to help. Max was not a cat person, normally. Big or little, she wasn’t a fan. But she knew this guy was trying to help her. He didn’t belong with these full-humans: ex-military who turned from a life of good works and heroic risks to brutal mercenary work and murder for profit. But the cat . . . he was here to stop them. How did she know? He had that look. Her mother called it, “The good-guy look. You have to watch out for them, honey. For those good guys,” she used to tell eight-year-old Max. “Your gut
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