Good.
Maybe nobody had ever said it to her before.
That thought alone made violence bloom inside my chest again.
“My sisters called me chubby constantly,” she admitted after a long pause. “And because my magic came late…” Her fingers twisted together tightly. “I think my mother believed something was wrong with me.”
The confession landed like a blade.
I wanted names.
Again.
Faces, names—a list of all who wronged her.
“Your magic isn’t weak,” I growled.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Her breath caught softly.
Fuck.
Admitting that was dangerous.
Very dangerous.
But true.
I did know her.
More every day.
I knew she twirled her hair while thinking.
That gummy bears were her preferred study snack.
That she hated peanut butter irrationally.
That she bit her bottom lip whenever nervous.
That she carried loneliness around like a second skin.
And I knew none of those things were weaknesses.
“Sorry,” she whispered suddenly. “I just—talking about my family brings up a lot of memories. It wasn’t their fault. Not really.”
“We can disagree about that. But tell me, was anyone kind?”
“Kind? Oh yes. My grandmother. I miss her very much.”
Instantly my attention sharpened.
“You said you looked like her.”
