Page 9 of Judge's Justice

The shadow disappears.

I go back to the bike.

Hours later…

Four a.m. rolls around and Brick checks in again.

**BRICK:** *Northern route clear. Heading back. You want relief?*

**JUDGE:** *Negative. I'm staying.*

**BRICK:** *You've been there for five hours.*

**JUDGE:** *I'm aware.*

**BRICK:** *Phoenix is going to tell you to get some sleep.*

**JUDGE:** *Phoenix can try.*

There's a long pause.

**BRICK:** *She must be something.*

I stare at the text. At the implication.

**JUDGE:** *She's a civilian. With a kid. Who got caught in our war. That's all.*

**BRICK:** *Sure.*

**JUDGE:** *Fuck off.*

**BRICK:** *Copy. Radio if you need anything.*

I shove the phone back in my pocket and drag a hand over my face.

She's not something. She's just—

She's just a woman who got off a bus at the wrong time and met the wrong man and now she's in danger because I protected her. Because I couldn't let that Viper put his hands on her, couldn't let him threaten a five-year-old kid who was looking up at her mother like she was the whole world.

That's all.

Except her kid signed to me without fear, asked if I was a superhero with this huge smile on her face like she'd just made a new friend. Except when I signed back, something in my chest went tight and warm like never before.

The sky is starting to lighten when I finally see the bedroom light come on again. Six a.m. Early, but not unreasonably so. Nora's probably trying to keep Grace on some kind of schedule. Trying to maintain normalcy.

Good luck with that.

I'm still sitting on the bike, watching the shadows move behind the curtains, when the front door opens.

Nora steps out onto the porch.

She's changed clothes. Jeans and a soft-looking sweater instead of the wrinkled shirt she was wearing last night. Her hair is down now, falling past her shoulders in dark waves. She looks tired. Looks like she didn't sleep any better than I did.

She sees me immediately. Stops. Then walks down the porch steps slowly, wrapping her arms around herself against the morning chill. I get off the bike. She stops about ten feet away, keeping some distance. Her eyes search my face like she's trying to figure out if I'm real or if she imagined the whole thing.

"You stayed," she says.

"Yeah."