THAT EVENING, AFTER DAD AND I RETURN from the apartment, where the electrician tore out the oven and the wall that had been damaged, we ate dinner with Mr. Rodriguez and Vance again—we order Chinese this time, from the great little takeout place down the street. I didn’t realize Vance could put down so much food; it’s really quite monstrous, because I thought I was the eggroll-eating champion. Alas, it seems I was dethroned. I didn’t mind it that much.

After we watch a few hours of TV and Mr. Rodriguez retires to bed, I do the dishes with my dad and talk a little about the new oven and microwave being installed tomorrow, and the plasterwork, and having to repaint half of the kitchen again—but I really don’t mind. I hated the old appliances anyway.

“And what have we learned?” I ask, handing him the last plate.

He replies gallantly, “Never put tinfoil in the microwave.”

“Good.”

He kisses me good night and leaves for his room. I change into my pajamas and slink down to the couch again, thinking everyone has gone to bed—but I freeze on the bottom step.

I was wrong.

Vance is lying down, legs flipped up over the back of the couch, head lolling off the other side. With his eyes closed, he doesn’t look as worried or brooding as he usually does, which surprises me. I thought he probably frowns in his sleep, but he actually looks…well, not terrible to look at is the only concession I’m giving.

I turn to creep back up the stairs when he says, a little blearily, “Can’t sleep either?”

…Guess he’s not asleep after all.

I turn back around to him. He pushes himself up on the couch and motions for me to come sit. I do, mostly because I can’t sleep. This house is too big and too quiet.

As I get closer, he holds up a book. “I want to know what happens.”

The Starless Throne.

I bite the inside of my cheek to hide a smile. “Do you, now?”

“I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon.”

I climb over the couch to sink down beside him. “Probably not all afternoon.”

“Does Sond get out of prison? Does Amara save the planet? Who’s the murderer? Are they ever going to kiss?” He asks the last one a little impatiently. “I want to know.”

In the dim light of the living room, his golden hair shines in a platinum halo around his head, and his cornflower eyes are bright with curiosity. He really does want to know what happens. I’ve read it a thousand times, I can recite most of the chapters by heart. I know what the words sound like in my head, but I don’t know what they sound like in his.

I push the book back to him. “Read it to me.”

“You can’t be serious.”

I yawn. “I’m tired. I worked all day. You’ve lounged around playing video games.” Which he doesn’t dispute, because I know him well enough by now. I’m not sure what kind of video games he plays, though. I close my eyes, curling up in the corner of the couch, and rest my head on the cushions. “Please?”

For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything, but then I hear him flip open the book, the pages buzzing between his fingers, until he settles on the page where we last left off, and he begins to read in a soft, steady cadence. The adventure of Amara and General Sond spills softly from his mouth, and I’m not sure when I drift off to sleep, but when I do my head is filled with stars.