>He grabbed the cereal container and set the milk to boil.
>”Want me to put some cinnamon in it?” He asked.
>Adelaide glanced up at him and responded, “Yes please.”
>John let the oatmeal simmer and tried to lean around the wall to look into the living room.
>For the next couple of minutes there was only the sound of a spoon and pan.
>He scooped it into a bowl and placed it in front of Adelaide, then sat back down with a refilled cup.
>”That boy’s still asleep, huh?”
>She looked back at him, his face buried into the back of the couch.
>Adelaide fought the urge to grin, smiling instead. It was more noticeable against her naturally bored face. “Out cold.”
>It went quiet almost immediately.
>John looked around the house, running his thumb across his fingertips.
>The old bolt-action rifle resting on the wall caught his attention.
>”That’s a big gun you got there. You a boar hunter?”
>Adelaide didn’t follow. She stared at him for a moment until she turned to where he was looking. Her gaze wandered to the couch, but she quickly looked back at him.
>”Oh, no. That’s my dad’s rifle.”
>”Ah, your dad was the hunter, right. He do it a lot?”
>Adelaide’s ears drooped slightly. “I think so. I never really asked my mom about it. But she did show me a couple pictures of him with his buddies.”
>John reached over and took Adelaide’s empty bowl and rinsed it under the sink.
>”So have you handled a gun at all, Adelaide?”
>”No sir.”
>”Well, now would be a good time to learn. Let’s just hope you never have to use it.”
>Anon shifted on the couch, looking over his shoulder. This morning was abnormally noisy.
>He let his head fall back on the cushion when he saw it was just Adelaide and his dad.
>The conversation was awkward, but it was nice seeing her talk to his dad for once. He pretty much had to speak for her.
>Anon stood near the stairwell.
>Staying up so late wouldn’t be a problem if it weren’t so terribly boring.
>But boring is better than terrifying. Adelaide made sure to remind him of that.
>He walked up to his room, just to check in on her.
>She was fast asleep, door left wide open. She had hugged the pillow against her chest, and buried her nose in it.
>Her tail was wrapped over her legs.
>He smirked, then went back down.
>Halfway down the stairs, Anon heard three knocks.
>He froze for a split second, then quietly made his way down and to the front door.
>Three more knocks, then a muffled and familiar voice: “Flash!”
>Anon responded, “Thunder!” and opened the door.
>John stood on the porch, Sport III slung across his shoulder.
>”Hey kiddo.”
>”Hey dad. Everything alright?”
>”Yeah, thankfully nothing much. Just watching checkpoints.”
>John left his rifle next to Adelaide’s.
>”Where’d you get this?”
>”I was gonna tell you. Adelaide came over.”
>”That little emo fox that invited you over?”
>”I think she’s more goth, but yeah, her.”
>”And what for? Is she okay?”
>”She looks fine. Came alone though, anxious and tired. I wanted to ask what happened, but…”
>”Yeah, good, don’t. At least not yet. Where is she?”
>”Up in my room.”
>”Alright, well, I figure you already decided where you’re sleeping.”
>”Yeah, right here,” Anon patted the couch cushions.
>”Right, well, you should go to bed now.”
>”Fine.”
>”And turn off all the lights.”
>Anon stayed up for a while longer, maybe an hour, pondering the already complicated situation.
>Eventually sleep got the best of him.
>Adelaide stirred awake, turning away from the light. She buried her face deeper into the pillow.
>It was unusual to have light in her room.
>She reached to turn off the lamp, only to miss completely.
>The lamp and nightstand were gone, and this wasn’t her room.
>She shot up, and looked around, then eased herself back into bed.
>Anon should be downstairs.
>She slid on her crumpled cargo pants and walked downstairs. Her nails clicked with every step down.
>She admired the paintings on the wall: Anon’s graduation, his parents’ wedding, and a picture of him as a baby with plump cheeks.
>Anon was fast asleep on the couch, still wearing his vest. He had taken his shoes off to place his feet on the armrest.
>”Morning, Adelaide,” said John, looking up at Adelaide frozen on the stairs. He placed his mug on the table and beckoned her to sit with him.
>”You want anything? I got oatmeal, eggs, some ham we need to eat soon. I made coffee if you want some too.”
>Adelaide hesitated. She had only spoken with him while Anon was with her.
>It didn’t seem like he would wake up anytime soon.
>”Yeah, just some oatmeal, please,” she said quietly.
>John stood up before she could sit, rummaging around the cabinets.
