Look at her husband. Peacefully sleeping in the safety of their home, where a locked door and security detail are there to keep everything bad on the outside of the Finley family bubble. His mouth gave the slightest of snores, the tiny reminders of a sleep well-needed from parted lips to dry him out. The warm tea was waiting for him, steam sweeping up before it was nearly snuffed out by Meagan's own breath, a back-draft effect through a room about to catch on fire.

"August!" The noise barely followed a subtle click of the door being closed by her own careful hands, only to be standing for him at the foot of the bed, arms crossed. They only disembarked from each other when she marched to the side, tugging off the sheets to get his attention before he could think of rolling away. "We need to talk. Right now," she demanded, this time yanking the pillow from him. "Archie almost saw you stumbling--no!--being towed into our home last night. What do you have to say for yourself?"