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Todd and Kate chattered nonstop, talking over each other, telling stories and asking questions he answered as fast as he could: where had he been, was he okay, would he look at this drawing, did he see that somersault, had he met the new president, had he been back to their house, did he want to play soccer?

Yes. Yes, he did.

Wyoming was cold in December, the temperature in the midtwenties—negative two, the thermometer in the window read, the NCH of course having converted to the metric system—but he hardly needed a jacket to keep warm. Just standing in the quad playing with his family did the job.

Cooper tipped the ball up with his foot, bounced it off either knee, then toe-popped it to Todd. “How you feeling, kiddo?”

“I’m okay,” his son said. “It doesn’t hurt. I hate my hair, though.” The surgeons had shaved part of his head, and the stubbled portion stood out like a scar.

“Neat thing about hair,” Natalie said, “it grows.”

“Slowly.”

“I think it’s cool,” Cooper said. “You look tough.”

“You look like a dweeb,” Kate said, and giggled. Todd stuck his tongue out at her, then kicked the ball gently in her direction. He was a good kid, a good older brother. Cooper and Natalie shared a quick look of private pleasure, and one of those moments of psychic communication that came of years together. Look what we made.

“What have you guys been up to? Any new friends?”

Todd shrugged. “It’s okay. I want to go home.”

“I still like it here,” Kate said. “But it’s different than before.”

“How’s that?”

“The grown-ups are all scared.”

Intellectually, he knew that his daughter was gifted, almost certainly tier one. But that didn’t make it easier to hear his five-year-old announce that all her guardians were frightened. “Are you scared, honey?”

“No,” Kate said. “You’ll protect us.” She spoke with the faith of a child, the simple certainty that her parents would keep the world at bay. That they would always catch her before she fell, always put themselves between her and harm. Which was good; that was what she was supposed to feel. And yet her words filled him with a mix of pride and terror more profound and powerful than anything he’d ever known.

“Right?”

“Of course, baby,” he said, but because she could read him, the only way to make the words meaningful was to mean them. To commit wholeheartedly to everything that came along with them. In that moment, he knew that he would burn down the whole world if that would keep his daughter not just safe, but secure in the knowledge of her safety.

“Dad,” Todd said, his expression at once steady and yet uncertain, like someone looking down at a long drop and standing very still, “how come this is happening? All of it?”

“I don’t know, buddy.” He paused. “I mean, we’ve talked before about how people are different, right?”

“Yeah, but . . . Mom told us that the president and a lot of other people died. That wasn’t just because they were different, right?”

He looked at Natalie, caught her tiny shrug, and in another burst of that psychic communication, he could almost hear her saying, Good luck with that one, Dad.

There was the temptation to lie. But with the world in the state it was . . .

Kate kicked the ball to him. He pinned it beneath one foot. “There’s not an easy answer to your question. Are you up to a complicated one?”

“Yeah.”

Cooper looked at Kate, who nodded somberly.

“Okay. Life isn’t like the movies—you know, how the bad guys just want to be bad guys, villains. In real life, there aren’t very many villains. Mostly, people believe they’re doing the right thing. Even the ones who are doing bad things usually believe they’re heroes, that whatever terrible thing they’re doing is to prevent something worse. They’re scared.”

“But if there aren’t real villains, what are they scared of?”

“It’s kind of a circle. When people are scared, it’s easy for them to decide anything different is evil. To forget that everyone is basically the same, that we all love our families and want regular lives. And what makes it worse is that some people use that. They make others scared on purpose, because they know if they do, everyone will start acting stupid.”

“But why would they want that?”

“It’s a way to control people. A way to get what they want.”

“What about the guy at the restaurant who tried to kill you? Is he a villain?”

“Yes,” Cooper said. “He is. He’s broken. Most real-life villains are. Usually it’s not their fault. But that doesn’t matter. They’re broken, and they do things that can’t be forgiven. Like hurting you.”

Todd pondered that, chewing his lip. “Do the bad guys ever win?”

Wow. Cooper hesitated. Finally, he said, “Only if the good people let them. And there are a lot more good people.” He bent and picked up the soccer ball. “Now. My turn to ask an important question.”

“What?”

“You guys have been here for a couple of weeks.” He cocked his head. “Have you figured out where to get decent pizza yet?”

They had.