Romy woke to Goofy's frantic barking at the front door. She dressed hastily, throwing on one of Bryson's discarded white t-shirts and a pair of Sofis, and followed the noise to the door. “What's wrong, puppy?” she asked her pet, stooping to ruffle his ears and squinting out at the hazy early daylight. Sure enough, there was an unfamiliar beige Sedan parked across the street from Romy's driveway. It wouldn't have been comment-worthy, but Goofy had an established knack for detecting unsavory strangers. He snarled in the direction of the car. “You stay here, little guy,” she said, rising. Wary, Romy cracked the door—thankfully the morning paper was situated on her stoop, furnishing her with a perfect excuse to sneak outside. Though it was officially light out, the Sedan still wore its headlights. Its idling engine murmured on the quiet street. Stooping to pick up her paper, Romy shielded her eyes from the Eastern sun and saw for a flash a driver in dark sunglasses, speaking into what looked like a walkie-talkie.
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