“It is the only one you’re going to get tonight.”
I exhaled once through my nose and reset my grip.
But even as I moved, even as steel met steel again under the harsh white lights of the training room, his words stayed with me.
At least give her something.
It was a simple thing to say and a far more difficult thing to do.
Because there was a part of me that doubted I was worth it.
I had never lacked confidence in what I could do, in what I could survive, in what I could become. I knew my own value in the world I had been born into. I knew what men saw when they looked at me now. Strength. Control. A mind sharp enough to be useful and a name heavy enough to matter. But Emily was not a negotiation, a strategy, or a war to be won. She was a woman with soft green eyes and a careful heart, and if I gave her the truth of my life, I could not pretend the cost would be light.
Men like me did not come without blood on our hands and darkness at our heels. We did not offer simple lives. We did not offer ease.
And maybe that was what unsettled me most.
But for the first time in my life, I wanted to be enough for someone outside the role I was built for.
Hoka came at me again, fast enough that instinct took over before thought could. I blocked, turned, drove him back a step, and heard the sharp ring of steel echo through the room.
Still, the doubt remained.
Because if I gave Emily even one real piece of me, there would be no taking it back.
And if she looked at what I truly was and chose to walk away, I was not entirely certain I would survive that.
“Focus,” Hoka said.
I tightened my grip on the cane’s handle and forced my mind back to the task at hand.
But even then, with sweat at my back and my uncle trying to beat the hesitation out of me the way he always had, one thought stayed fixed at the center of everything: what I could give her before I asked her to give me anything at all.
CHAPTER 8
EMILY
“I’m getting my surgery.”
My sister beamed through the screen, and my heart sank.
Not because I didn’t want her to have it. God, no. We had been fighting for this for over two years, arguing with doctors, waiting on referrals, jumping through every hoop they threw at us, only to be told over and over that because it was considered non-critical, it could wait. Except it never felt elective to Sophie. It felt like pain. Limitation. Delay. Another part of her life put on hold while other people decided what counted as urgent.
“Really?”
She nodded so hard her messy bun wobbled. “Yes. We found out two days ago.”
“Two days?” I stared at her. “And you’re only telling me now?”
Her excitement faltered, only a little. “I was hoping you might still come for Thanksgiving.”
The words landed softly, but they hit.
Sophie shrugged like it didn’t matter, like she was only mentioning it in passing, but I knew her too well for that. She had never been good at hiding disappointment. As a kid she usedto do it loudly, with tears and shouting and accusations dramatic enough to deserve their own soundtrack. Now she did it more quietly, with fake shrugs and careful smiles and a voice just a little too bright.
And underneath it, I knew exactly what she was asking.
Come home.
