But River stands in front of me, small and furious and unyielding.
Her people. Her command.
And for the first time in a long, long while, I don’t feel the urge to crush the ones aiming their weapons. I just watch her, heat burning low in my chest.
The farmhouse stinks of smoke and blood. Not fresh blood, but the sour iron tang that clings after wounds are half-cleaned and bandaged in haste. The walls groan with every hit outside, every arrow striking wood, every bullet chewing through plaster. The floor is cold dirt, churned to mud by boots and blood alike.
River pushes ahead, weaving through her people like she’s never been gone. Their hands reach for her as she passes—brief touches, quick murmurs, eyes shining with something close to hope.
And then he’s there.
Mike Rizzo.
He looks like a man carved down to his bones. His frame’s still broad, but thinner, hollower. His face is all angles, the beard more gray than brown, eyes sunk deep but still burning with that fire I’ve only ever seen in zealots and dying stars.
“River.” His voice cracks when he says her name.
She freezes, then steps into his arms. He hugs her tight, too tight, like he’s afraid she’ll vanish if he loosens his grip. His hand curls around the back of her head, holding her like she’s still that girl he saved from chains.
“Thought I lost you,” he mutters, low enough I barely catch it. His eyes stare past her shoulder, unfocused, thousand-yard. “Too many lost. Couldn’t bear to add you.”
She swallows hard, murmurs something back I can’t hear. For a heartbeat, the war falls away and it’s just them—soldier and commander, father and daughter in all but blood.
Then his gaze lifts. And finds me.
The warmth dies.
He lets her go, straightening, his hand slipping away from her like he’s sheathing a blade. His eyes narrow, sharp as any rifle sight, locking onto me.
The room changes. Guns shift in hands. Boots scrape. Whispers hiss like snakes in the dark.
River feels it too. She turns, standing between us. “He’s with me.”
Rizzo doesn’t look at her. Doesn’t blink. “That a troll?”
“Yes,” she snaps. “And he saved my life. Twice. You’d be down one more soldier if it weren’t for him.”
The murmurs sharpen. Words likemonsterandtraitorripple through the room. I catch them all. My ears are sharper than theirs. Their fear stinks, sharp and sour, rolling off them in waves.
I bare my teeth. Just enough to show I hear. Just enough to remind them fear has reason.
“Trustworthy?” Rizzo finally asks, voice flat, dead.
“Yes,” River says, firm.
His gaze flicks to her. “You sure about that?”
“I wouldn’t be standing here otherwise.”
He studies her face, searching for cracks, for hesitation. Finds none. His jaw works, grinding stone.
The room’s air is tight as a bowstring, ready to snap. I can feel the weight of every rifle, every trigger finger itching for an excuse.
Finally, Rizzo exhales through his nose, a short, sharp sound. “Fine.” He doesn’t look at me when he says it. “But if he so much as breathes wrong?—”
“He won’t.” River cuts him off, hard. Her voice fills the room, steadier than his.
For a moment, I almost smile.
