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Too fucking close.

The infected. The almost-kiss. My hand hovering near her face. The way Clair’s breath caught like she wanted me to close the distance and feared it at the same time.

All of it.

Too close.

Clair and I cut through the trees fast, boots crunching over frozen leaves and patches of old snow. She keeps up, but it costs her. Her jaw is tight, her bad leg drags every few steps, and gore streaks her jacket like proof she survived the lesson, not proof she mastered it.

We’re going to need more time.

More training.

More chances for her body to learn the difference between danger and me.

She tried. She listened when fear let her. But the freezing runs deeper than I hoped, and wanting her only makes that more dangerous.

My hand tightens around my bow as camp appears through the trees. Vehicles. Tarps. Smoke curling from the firepit. People we need to keep alive.

That is the point.

Not the way Clair’s hand felt against my chest.

Or the hurt that crossed her face when I stepped back.

Shit.

I didn’t reject her. I was just trying not to take something she wasn’t ready to give. To turn the first real pieces of trust she handed me into pressure. But knowing my reason doesn’t change what she felt.

She needs a teacher who can keep his hands steady and his head clear.

That’s all.

So how do I teach her to see how strong she already is?

Poppy spots her first.

“Mom!”

She runs across the clearing, braids bouncing, and Clair barely has time to drop the crowbar before Poppy hits her. Clair wraps around her hard, holding on like the world tried to take her again.

The world is always trying to take something.

“Are you okay? You were gone for a long time.”

“I’m okay,” Clair says, voice steady even though she’s covered in gore.

Poppy pulls back just enough to look at her hand, then the hatchet, then me.

Her eyes widen. “How many did you kill with that?”

These are the kinds of questions kids ask now.

Clair glances down at the hatchet like she’s just remembering she’s still holding it. “One by myself. The rest were group projects.”

Poppy’s face lights with something too close to admiration.

“Cool.”