It's amazing to Rogue how fast Rebecca turns from an innocent-faced cherub into a demanding little night owl. Two hours would be generous between screams—if they ever got that much.

"That girl's got lungs," Remy comments on the fourth trip out of bed in as many hours on the third night.

It's Rogue's turn so she glares at him. "It would help if she wasn't awake," she snaps. "Then she'd only scream when she's hungry."

He looks at her, surprised. "And this is my fault?"

"You're the night owl."

Remy gives her a wicked grin. "Mais you're the screamer."