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If Clair isn’t ready, that’s fine. I’ll wait as long as she needs. I’ll stand near. Step back. Write notes. Teach her to fight. Watch her become the version of herself Russ tried to bury. I’ll take whatever she gives and ask for nothing she isn’t ready to offer.

But Poppy?

Poppy is already deciding where I belong and I’m not screwing that up.

Not ever.

Heat burns behind my eyes. I blink it back, but a couple tears slip through, catching in my beard. I don’t look away from her.

She resets her stance. Feet planted. Knees soft. Shoulders down.

Pull. Hold. Release.

The arrow flies straight and sinks into the center of the cloth.

Bullseye.

That’s my girl.

Poppy turns to me, smiling. “Besides, if you’re not good to her, I’ll just shoot an arrow into your chest.”

My shoulders vibrate as I shake my head.

She laughs too, bright and easy.

Maybe teaching her to shoot this well wasn’t the smartest move.

Oh well.

Too late now.

FOURTEEN

KEEP IT

CLAIR

Morning comes with sore muscles and a clearer head.

Trish runs me before the sun fully burns through the trees. The ground is still damp beneath our boots, the grass cold enough to soak through the cuffs of my jeans every time we cut across the edge of the clearing.

“Pick up your feet,” she says.

“I am picking them up.”

“Higher.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. I’m your best friend.”

True, but that doesn’t mean I like her right now.

My breath comes sharp in the cold. My scar pulls with every stride, every stumble, every correction. Trish doesn’t let me stop, but she doesn’t push me past breaking either. She watches my gait, my breathing, the way my weight shifts when my leg starts to drag.

“Slow for ten steps,” she says. “Then we go again.”

So I slow.