He titled it nothing. Some things, he said, don't need a title. The image is the title.
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**Mitch** came in last, and his entry was preceded by approximately sixty seconds of him standing in the doorway without coming in, which everyone noticed and nobody mentioned, because there was exactly one rule in this compound about the things Mitch needed time for and the rule was: give him the time.
He crossed the room.
He looked at the baby.
His phone stayed in his pocket.
He said nothing for a while.
Then, quietly, to no one specific: "She looks like both of you."
"Yes," Ryke said.
"That's — good. That's the correct—" Mitch stopped. Started again. "That's what should happen."
He was, I realized with some surprise, flustered. Mitch Avaro, who had been a fixed point through legal crise
