Jake wasn't happy. Niki should have been home a while ago, and while no one had said anything yet, the undercurrent of concern was thick enough to feel like he was suffocating on it. Micah was usually worried about his mom, even more than was typically understandable, but right now they were all worried about Niki, in varying levels.
Walking the apartment, telling himself he was thinking instead of just pacing. Jake was strong in the Touch. He knew something was wrong. Knew it enough that the satchel of plates, normally stored safely in his closet, was over his shoulder.
When the knock came at the door, his hand had blurred, the plate sailing from his hand before the echoes had died out. There was a faint whistle as it cut through the air, and then there was a long slice cut cleanly through the door.
A warning shot. He didn't want to kill anyone yet. But neither was he going to let some fucker come and 'take them away'. A second plate was already in hand, and Oy was at Jake's heels, the bumbler's lips curled back in a snarl as both gunslinger and bumbler glared at the doorway.