Page 48 of North’s Claim

“She’s incredible,” Nyxa whispers, and her voice breaks around it.

I sit down beside her, not touching, but close enough she knows I’m there. “You ever think about it?” I ask.

“About what?”

“Opening your own dance school.”

She laughs, but there’s no joy in it but disbelief. “I don’t have qualifications. No training. Just a box of old trophies I barely remember winning that; I’m sure my mother threw away.”

I watch her face, the way she tries to shut it down before it opens too wide. “Bullshit,” I say. “You danced with those toddlers like it was the most natural thing in the world.”

She blinks.

“You were glowing, Firefly.”

Silence stretches between us.

“I don’t have the money,” she finally says. “And I’m not asking for yours.”

I don’t answer that. Not yet. Because it’s not about money. It’s about her finally wanting something for herself and me realizing how fucking much I want to give it to her.

She pulls the blanket tighter, like it can shield her from this conversation. “I sent out some applications,” she says quietly, eyes still locked on the now-muted screen. “A bakery in town. And a dance school downtown. The bakery turned me down, said I didn’t have experience. The dance school didn’t even bother replying.”

My jaw ticks. She never told me. Didn’t ask for help. Didn’t even want me to know.

I stare at her a moment longer, weighing every word. I know the bakeries in town. Know the owners. They’ve been under our protection since before I patched in. One call, one fucking visit, and she’d have had that job in a heartbeat.

But that’s not what this is about. It’s not rejection that’s eating her, it’s what she believes that rejection means.

“That pisses me off.”

She tenses, her shoulders pulling up. “You think I shouldn’t have applied or should’ve asked you to come with me?”

“No,” I reply. “I think it pisses me off that you didn’t think you could.”

She turns her head toward me, face unreadable. “It’s not about that. I didn’t want anyone giving me a job because I’m under the Saints'’ roof.”

Under me, I almost say. My cut, my name, my protection.

Instead, I nod once. “So it’s about independence.”

She hesitates, then nods.

I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “I’ve seen the change, Nyxa. You’ve been… brighter. Stronger. And I thought that was just you healing, but now I wonder if this place is starting to feel too tight for you.”

Her lips part, but she says nothing. The scared look on her face says she didn’t get what I'm trying to make her understand.

I don’t press.

Instead, I breathe out slow. “Then go get what you need.”

She shakes her head. “I’m not taking your money.”

Fuck.

I clench my jaw, stare at the blank TV. “I’m not offering a handout, Firefly. I’m giving you a fucking greenlight. You want the qualifications? Go get ’em. Want a job? Fine. I’ll stay out of it. But don’t think for a second I’m not gonna push you when I see you giving up before you’ve even tried.”

“I’m not giving up…”