Page 63 of Joker

I need a hobby. A better one than this.

The kitchen is quiet this early, only the low hum of the fridge and the occasional clink of ceramic when she sets her mug down. Sunlight is just starting to work its way through the windows, pale and soft enough to make the whole room feelslower than the rest of the clubhouse ever really allows. It should be an ordinary morning.

And it is.

That’s the problem. Ordinary is getting dangerous.

Raven pours coffee, adds the same creamer and sugar she used yesterday, and I hate that I notice the exact amount without even trying. She catches me watching the coffee station for a second too long and tilts her head. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“That looked like something.”

“It wasn’t.”

Her mouth twitches again like she knows I’m full of shit.

Probably because I am.

She takes her mug and leans against the counter across from me, shoulders still slightly rounded with sleep, one bare foot hooking behind the other in a way that looks absentminded and comfortable and absolutely not like the kind of body language I should be clocking before breakfast.

I force my attention elsewhere.

That should be easy. It isn’t. Because now that I’ve been around her for more than a single night and a long drive, I’m noticing too much.

Little things. Tiny things.

The kind most people would miss. The kind I don’t. And once I notice them, I can’t stop.

The first time it hits me that morning is when Cain comes barreling into the kitchen looking for his keys and arguing with Emma over his shoulder about something one of the kids did with markers and a wall. It’s not serious. It’s not ugly. Just normal married-people volume. Loud enough to fill the room for a second before he turns back toward the hall.

Raven flinches. Barely.

Not enough for Cain or Emma to catch it.

Enough for me.

Her shoulders tighten. Her hand stills around her mug. Her eyes flick automatically toward the sound before she reins herself back in and makes it look like nothing happened at all.

But I saw it.

That goes into the pile with the rest. Then there’s the way she apologizes too fast.

Later Emma asks if she wants breakfast and Raven says, “Sorry, I can make something myself,” before Emma even finishes the sentence.

Sorry.

For existing. For being offered food. For taking up room in a kitchen she’s already been told she can use.

I don’t like that one. Not even a little.

Later, when we’re all moving around the common room and Lexi is chasing Jason in circles with Bunny dragging behind her like a tiny hostage, I catch Raven checking the front door. Then the side door. Then the hall near the back exit.

Not obsessively. Not in a way anyone else would probably clock if they weren’t looking for it. But she checks them.

Every time she passes.

A glance. A quick verification.