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“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That was definitely something.”

Mercy picks up a cotton pad. “That was a man trying not to crawl across the floor.”

Heat creeps into my face.

“He can keep trying.”

Mercy’s eyes meet mine.

“Good.”

I look at Raven’s hand again.

The better Bitter was real.

That thought has been circling for days.

I hate it because if everything good had been fake, this would be easier. If the man who listened, stopped, asked, fixed my lock, repaired Mama’s frame, and held my hand in bed had been an act, I could throw the whole thing away.

But Mercy said something the night I caught him with Trixie that I have not managed to forget.

Bitter had a choice between acting like the man he was becoming and running back to the bastard he already knew how to be.

He chose the bastard.

That does not make the damage smaller.

It makes the loss worse.

By noon, Raven’s hand is finished.

Mercy studies it for so long my stomach twists.

Finally, she sets down her glasses.

“Good work.”

I smile before I can stop myself. “Really?”

“No. I enjoy lying to students over corpses.”

“Your people skills need work.”

“My dead people skills are excellent.”

Junie bumps my shoulder.

“You did good.”

Pride swells through me.

Mine.

Not because Bitter saw it. Not because Razor cannot take it. Not because some man chose me.