The hot dog vendor handed Iris her change with zero enthusiasm, the kind of expression only a man who'd stood on the same Manhattan corner for fifteen years could cultivate. Iris bit into her food with the satisfied look of someone who'd just won a war.
My phone buzzed.
I glanced down. Harlow, probably asking if Iris survived the confrontation. I swiped the notification away without reading it and steered Iris toward the parking garage with a hand between her shoulder blades.
"Come on. I'm taking you to Penn Station."
"What about your job?"
"I can figure that out after you're on a train heading home like a normal person."
"I am normal."
"Normal fourteen year olds don't forge medical documents and conduct interstate surveillance operations."
"I prefer to call it a wellness check."
"I prefer to call it grounds for grounding you until college."
She took another bite of her hot dog, completely unbothered.
