"Wake up, you fool—don't die on us!" Beatriz shoved a wooden bowl under my chin and poured porridge in like she was feeding a stray mutt. My mouth closed around it. Warm grit and boiled rice filled my teeth. I ate because starving felt worse than shame. "Eat slower, you'll choke," Ambrosio barked, but his eyes searched the courtyard for trouble rather than watching me. Gwen stood with her arms crossed and a scowl that could split wood. Brennan leaned on a rake and spat, which was his way of being gentle. "Don't look at me like that," I said, swallowing. My voice was rougher than I wanted. "I'm fine." "You're five days late washing, and you can't stand on your own two feet," Beatriz said. "Quincy left his bike for someone to use, and you got the only warm blanket this house owns." "I didn't ask for blanket favors," I said. My hands curled around the bowl. The spoon felt foreign, as if someone had replaced the weight with someone else's choices. "Stop talking back," Ambrosio said, low. "We feed you because you're family. Don't make me regret it." There was blame in his mouth. There was also worry. Edric's shadow passed across the doorway and he didn't say anything. He just watched me chew. I catalogued faces like a soldier catalogues threats. Beatriz's jaw. Ambrosio's hands. Gwen's flare. Brennan's protective mute