We hear something—a deep, pulsing snort—and turn our heads toward the stairs. “I don’t think they left,” I say. Felix presses against my back and grabs fistfuls of my shirt as we slowly start the climb. “Do you think it’s a bear?” he whispers, voice trembling. “No.” “Are you sure? It could be a bear.” “I don’t think a bear would leave food to check out your bedroom.” “Unless he’s tired.” I feel myself fighting a smile. “You’re really cute when you’re scared.”
