Dirigo

Spot, as a rule, didn't sleep when Race did. He couldn't. Someone had to keep watch, the quiet voice said in the back of his head as he stared at the ceiling for hours on end. There was nothing to watch out for, of course. They were living in Brooklyn these days. Spot hadn't said it out loud, but he didn't really feel safe anywhere else, even Manhattan. Brooklyn was just familiar enough, so deeply ingrained in his mind that even when he would pass construction sites and a jackhammer would go off, he wouldn't jump. Anywhere else and a loud noise sent him diving for the nearest foxhole. He hated that.

( The ceiling of their bedroom had a crack running diagonally across it, from one corner to the opposite. )