A quiet alarm buzzed in Rosario's fingertips and prickled along the hairs of her arms.
Archer was talking now, some faux self-deprecating bullshit about his name, but Rosario's attention was entirely on her phone's screen, on the sick greenish pallor that had stolen over her mom. She wasn't saying anything at all, just staring at the three of them – no, at Archer – with widening eyes.
Rosario had seen her mom furious and she'd seen her upset and she'd seen her at her wit's end with exhaustion, but whatever this was now, this look of – she didn't even know, was it dread? fear? – this was new, and it made her stomach bunch tight with worry. "Ma?"
Carla seemed to stiffen. "Your father..." she began cautiously, pausing to wet her lips. "Does he live around here too, Archer?"