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could make out the smudge of his body. He was leaning against the house, a tiny orange light glowing in front of his face. The scent of pot, tangled with night jasmine and salt water, drifted to me on the sea breeze.
    â€œYou can’t do everything,” I said carefully. “I’m part of the family, too, you know.”
    A bitter laugh escaped his throat. He took a drag on the joint. “Family, huh?”
    His words jabbed painfully at my heart. I didn’t like it when Parker got like this. Dark and brooding, his sarcasm a shroud for the anger that seethed underneath it. I wasn’tstupid. I knew our life wasn’t perfect. But we were safe and healthy. We had parents who loved us. It was more than a lot of people had.
    â€œParker . . .” I put a hand on his arm, choosing my words carefully. The backyard was shielded on either side by bougainvillea-covered fences, but it still wasn’t the War Room. “Let’s not do this again. There’s no point. This is the way it is.”
    â€œWell, the way it is sucks.” He pushed off the wall of the house and lifted a black backpack from the ground near his feet. Swinging it over his shoulder, he stalked into the dark.
    â€œWhere are you going?”
    â€œTo do my job.”
    I stared after him as he faded into the night. Then I picked up the trash bag and headed for the side of the house, looking for the trash can my mom had said was there.
    I was halfway down the walkway, so overgrown with trees and vines that the light of the full moon was almost completely obliterated, when I heard humming. I stopped walking and listened, trying to determine the source of the sound. A few seconds later I realized it was coming from the backyard next door, hidden from view by the fence that separated the properties, and was accompanied by a low gurgling that could have been the jets on a hot tub.
    A man’s voice rose into the night, singing.

    You always hurt the one you love
    The one you shouldn’t hurt at all.

    The song sounded old and a little sultry. I wondered if the man singing it was the same person who had watched Parker and me walk to the car that morning. And then I wondered something else: Had he heard me talking to Parker in the dark?
    I walked carefully to the fence, peering through one of the gaps, hoping to get a look at him.
    At first all I could see was the backyard. It was lush, almost overgrown, with so many flowers and trees I could barely make out the glow of lights on the deck, steam rising into the night air. A hairy arm was flung over the wooden edge of a hot tub, but the rest of the man was obscured by climbing vines on a trellis that acted as a screen for the Jacuzzi. I adjusted my position, trying to get a better look, but all I got was a glimpse of a baseball cap.
    Stepping away from the fence, I forced myself to think, to remember what I’d said to Parker. Had I given us away? Broken one of the cardinal rules by talking about the job outside the War Room?
    But no. I hadn’t said anything incriminating—only that Parker couldn’t do everything, that I was part of the family, too.
    It could have meant anything.
    I shook off my unease and continued to the trash can, dropping the bag inside before heading back down the path. A gust of wind blew through the trees, and a commotion rose in the branches over my head, a cacophony of flapping wings as birds took flight. I looked up, but all I saw was theshadow of leaves and twisted branches.
    â€œYes, yes!” the man next door called out, his voice magnanimous.
    I froze.
    â€œTake flight, my little parrots. Be free,” he continued. “As free as you can be in this gilded cage. As free as any of us can be.”
    I hurried to the back door, rubbing my arms against a sudden chill.

Nine
    I was staring out the window the next morning, hoping for a glimpse of the birds, when my mom’s heels sounded on the tile in the kitchen.
    â€œAre there