The raid of the kitchens had gone well, and they"d brought all their booty up to Fitz"s sitting room, but Fitz had no appetite for any of it. The sweet, tart smell of the lemonade should"ve been particularly tempting, given how thirsty he was from the walk to the cottage and back, but he couldn"t be bothered to pour himself a glass. He just stood in the doorway halfway on the balcony, alternating looking in on the others clustered around Wyss and his tablet and looking out over the prairie.
Like he was afraid he"d see Ritchie running away. Or being dragged off. Or, for whatever reason, just ending up far away from him.
The others all perked up at once and he leaned into the room to see Ritchie, red-faced and sweating, bursting into the room. He ran to pour a glass of lemonade for her and
