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Scout lifted both dogs inside, then waited for Tucker to climb up before closing the door. He lingered in the alcove that housed the door, eyes sweeping over the room. Scout felt a stab of self-consciousness at the general untidiness of the space. The crates full of broken or disassembled appliances, the liberal sprinkling of random tools all over the place—that had been Ottilie, but the mess in the kitchenette was on Scout.
“It’s not mine, I’m just borrowing it,” Scout said. She couldn’t keep herself from sweeping the empty MRE containers into the recycler and tossing the sporks into the sink.
“Oh. It looks like you live here,” Tucker said, looking toward the bunks in back. The top bunk was overflowing with more boxes of junk, but the bottom bunk contained nothing but bedding sloppil
