I looked at the black screen sitting quiet between the paper towel roll and June’s prescription bottle.

“Did you power it all the way off?” I asked.

“It is completely off,” Ethan said.

“Alan Vance can email Marcus, and my mother can talk to her steering wheel.”

June let out a tiny whimpering sound, her fingers twitching as she clutched the fabric of my sweater.

Ethan walked around the edge of the kitchen table and stopped directly beside my armchair.

He stretched out both arms toward me, keeping his hands wide and steady.