Hand Selected
The moon hung like a curved dagger over the meadow, casting only the faintest sliver of silver across the grass. It wasn’t enough to soften the night—just enough to carve shadows. The fire burned low, its light flickering and cruel, etching sharp, distorted patterns across the tired faces of Collin’s friends. No one spoke above a murmur. No one laughed.
They were all exhausted from the pressure of the day, coiled tight around their spines and hearts. Sleep sat on the far edge of possibility, distant and indifferent, so they gathered in the cold hush of Collin’s front yard, sitting in the safety between flame and fence.
Lekyi was recounting his dismal performance, his voice low and monotonous, an attempt at levity that faltered in the gravity of the hour.
Collin leaned his head against the worn fencepost behind him, its wood cool against his scalp. He was only half listening. The words drifted past, thin and weightless, like smoke from the dying fire.
His hand skimmed the tops of the tall grass, fingertips brushing seedheads damp with night dew. Insects, drawn by the warmth and light, hurled themselves into the flames—tiny bodies snapping into sparks, their wings vanishing in whispered puffs of smoke. He watched them burn without flinching.
Across the flickering fire, his gaze found Dragonfly.
She sat cross-legged in the grass, angled just enough to seem removed from the group though she hadn’t moved away. One elbow rested on her knee, chin balanced in the crook of her hand. Her hair spilled in loose, flaxen waves, catching the firelight only faintly before falling back into shadow. The strands draped across half her face like a curtain, obscuring her expression, but not hiding the heaviness in her shoulders.
Collin studied her quietly. The way her shoulders rounded ever so slightly inward. The way she never once looked up.
He waited—still, patient—for her to meet his eyes. But she didn’t. Not once.
Was she listening to Lekyi, or was she, like him, wasn’t hearing much at all? She stared into the fire with an intensity that suggested she was seeing something else entirely.
Lekyi groaned dramatically, slumping deeper into Dinah’s side as though the blanket over their laps could shield him from the memory. She stroked his arm with the kind of sympathy reserved for small children and dying men. “I tried to fight back,” he declared, a hand rising briefly for emphasis. “I tried everything. But I was dismantled like I’d never touched a sword in my life. I think they let me land one hit out of pity.”
Uriah shoved an entire ball of goat cheese into his mouth without ceremony. “I have never been so humiliated.” The words came out muffled and bleak, as if the cheese itself had taken offense on his behalf.
“I wish they’d given us warning,” Nic muttered. He sat a little straighter, arms wrapped tightly around Helen, who rested her head against his shoulder. “Time to prepare. A vague notion that we were about to be publicly humiliated.” He gestured vaguely. “Something. One of those guards looked like he fought bears for sport.”
“Maybe they just wanted entertainment,” Lekyi said.
“Oh, it was entertainment,” Niall added grimly. His lip was twice its usual size and every syllable made him wince. “I heard actual laughter when I got kicked in the face.”
Uriah squinted toward the girls. “What did they make you do?”
Dinah glanced up from the fire. “Just targets. I didn’t have to fight anyone. Thank the stars.”
Aries grimaced. “I imagine it wouldn’t look great, pitting men against girls.”
Clive turned toward Helen. “What about you?”
Helen blushed, but didn’t lift her head from where it rested on Nic’s shoulder. Her voice was soft and shy. “Some moving targets. A few stationary ones.”
Nic looked around at the others, his voice deceptively calm. “If she'd been made to fight a guard, I’d have personally found whoever planned it and made sure they were the target instead.” He didn’t smile, and no one questioned whether he meant it.
River let out a noise of despair. “They should’ve evaluated me with the girls. I was flattened in five seconds. I don’t even know if I got a score or just... pity.”
Clive patted him on the back, his mouth twitching. “You’re a doctor, River. You’re not supposed to fight.”
“Yeah, Riv,” Nic said, “You’re supposed to sigh dramatically over our wounds and send us back into the fray wrapped in linen and guilt.”
Lekyi nodded, eyes half-lidded. “I’d take a cracked rib over that assessment any day.”
Aries groaned loudly. “Don’t tempt fate.”
