The first floor, several large rooms with oak floors and wallpapered walls, was empty of furniture. The walls were marked by dark shadows of smoke and ash, the floor smeared with it. Long streaks and smudges, as if battle had taken place there.

I left Liam in the foyer, walked into the front room. It was a large parlor, had probably once held fancy sofas for visitors, uncomfortable armchairs.

A whimper sounded somewhere deeper in the house.

My first instinct was to crouch. I had no idea why—what would crouching do if an unfriendly Para was pounding down the hallway?

I heard the click of nails on wood, and a big yellow dog—a Lab, probably—trotted onto the threshold, froze there, and stared at me.

It had been months since I’d seen a dog. There wasn’t much food to go around in the Zone, so having a pet to feed wasn’t easy. I liked dogs, but I was smart enough to be careful around them. Slowly, I crouched, offered a hand for sniffing, and waited for him to come to me.

He padded carefully forward, one step at a time, until he reached me. He sniffed my hand with a rough, wet nose, then nuzzled his head against my palm. And just like that, we were friends.

“Hey, boy. Are you an ear man or a neck man?” I scratched his neck beneath his faded collar, grinned when his rear foot began to slap rhythmically at the floor. “And we have a winner.”

“Foster, you are a fickle friend.”

Foster’s head came up at the sound of Liam’s voice. He saw him, galloped forward, and sat down, head on his paws. He whimpered.

“Don’t let him fool you,” Liam said, bending down to offer a scratch. “This is a ploy for attention.”

Liam opted for Foster’s ears, and the dog’s tail thumped heavily on the worn oak floor.

Maybe there was more to Liam than the gruff exterior. After all, a dog this nice couldn’t like a jerk, could he?

When Liam stood up again, Foster rolled onto his back, scratched it against the wooden floor with little piggy grunts of pleasure.

“He is a dog, right?”

“Forty percent Lab. Thirty percent cat. Thirty percent porcine something or other.”

Foster rolled over again, stood, and shook from nose to tail with a delicious shiver. Then he sat down again and stared up at Liam, waiting for affection, instructions, or snacks. He caught sight of the paper bag, made a low whine.

“He’s a clever one.”

“He’s a spoiled one,” Liam said. “You have any pets?”

“No.” I shrugged. “Although I do feed a stray cat in the Quarter now and again.”

“That hardly counts.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

“She’s upstairs,” Liam said. He pointed toward the front door. “Keep an eye on the door, Foster.”

Foster made a sound that was a cross between a grunt and howl, but he rose and trotted to the door, nails clicking, and sat down in front of it.

“He’s a good dog,” I said.

“He is. And part of the family.”

“Do you think there’ll be trouble? I mean, do we really need a guard dog?”

His eyes darkened again. “There will always be trouble. The only issues are where, when, and how well you’re prepared for it.”

“You’re such an optimist, Liam.”

I looked up at the new voice, found a woman standing in the hallway with an empty plastic pitcher. She was trim and fit, with short, dark hair and brown eyes and high cheekbones. Her dark skin contrasted against bright blue scrubs.

“Victoria.”

She smiled at him. “Good to see you today.”

“This is Claire. Claire, Victoria. She’s one of Eleanor’s nurses.”