The car speeds out of the Jordan compound like a bullet, tires screeching against the pavement. Henry grips the wheel with practiced ease, his eyes sharp on the road. In the passenger seat, Alex leans toward the rear view mirror, inspecting her bruised nose with a scowl.

  “Are you alright?” Henry asks, flicking her a glance.

  Alex exhales sharply. “No, not really.” Then, after a beat, “My nose hurts.”

  Henry squints at her through the dim glow of the dashboard. “It looks broken. Is it broken?”

  Alex frowns, unable to grasp the notion of her having a broken nose. “I—don’t know. How do I tell?”

  Without hesitation, Henry reaches over, his fingers barely brushing her face before she jerks back.

  “Whoa,” he says, retracting his hand, eyes refocusing back on the road. “I was just trying to check. You might need an ice pack.”

  Alex snaps, “I don’t need an ice pack! I need—” She stops herself, frustration burning too hot to form into words. Instead, she levels a glare at him. “What are you even doing here?”

  Henry doesn’t miss a beat. “Saving you.” His voice is casual, but his eyes stay fixed on the road. “Do you have the crystal?”

  At that, Alex lets out an incredulous laugh. “If one more person says the word ‘crystal’ again, I swear on Alexander—”

  Henry cuts her off, tone sharper now. “Do you have it?”

  She scoffs. “Do I look like I wear shiny—” But mid-rant, the pieces click into place.

  Her stomach drops.

  The Professor’s frantic, incoherent ramblings about impending doom. Chris vanishing without a trace, only to reappear in near-shreds on an operating table. And then there were Beavis and Butthead—her would-be murderers from barely two minutes ago—all after the same thing.

  The flashy new gem dangling from Lilian’s necklace. Some kind of very important crystal that had everybody rolling on their heads.

  And now, as if the insanity wasn’t already stacked high enough, Henry was poking around with his own suspicious inquiries.

  “Stop the car.”

  Henry blinks. “Excuse me?”

  She turns to him, jaw set. “Henry. Stop the car. Now.”

  He barely pulls over before Alex throws the door open and jumps out, boots hitting the asphalt before the tires even stop rolling.

  “Thanks for blowing those guys up back in the house,” she calls over her shoulder. “I can take it from here.”

  Henry doesn’t hesitate. He unbuckles and rushes after her. “Hey, hey! Alex, where are you going?”

  “I’m not telling you that. Get back in your car.”

  Henry swiftly steps in front of her, blocking her path. “I don’t think you understand the severity of the situation here.”

  She strides past him without so much as a glance.

  He groans in frustration, palms digging into his eyes. “Hey! You can’t just go off by yourself—”

  His hand closes around her arm.

  In an instant, Alex twists out of his grip and flips him violently to the ground.

  Henry crashes with a heavy thud, but he’s back on his feet just as fast. A drop of blood dribbles from Alex’s nose and she wipes it away with her sleeve.

  He watches her carefully, breath heaving. “You’re bleeding.” He voices the obvious.

  “Do not touch me.” Alex growls dangerously.

  But Henry must be deaf this evening, because he ignores her explicit warning and grabs her wrist before she can slip away.

  She rips her arm loose and swings. Henry blocks, catching her fist mid-air.

  Alex’s knee snaps up toward his ribs—he barely twists in time to deflect it with his forearm. She pivots, aiming an elbow for his face—he ducks, shoving her back a step.

  She’s already surging forward again.

  Henry feints a grab, but she’s faster—she sweeps his leg, and Henry crashes onto his back with a grunt.

  He rolls, pops back onto his feet, and lunges. Somehow it works, and he is behind her in an instant, arms locking around her neck in a rear naked choke.

  Pinned, Alex’s breath comes fast, fresh blood streaking down her face. Henry watches, almost amused.

  “You know,” he muses, eyes focused intensely on her discomfort, “a lot of your actions make much more sense now.”

  Alex doesn’t hesitate. She slams her head back, clipping him in the face.

  Henry recoils, dazed just long enough for her to spot the knife strapped to his thigh.

  In one fluid motion, she yanks it free. And with one single, effortless thrust, Henry jolts as the blade pins him to a tree, right through the arch of his pants. His body goes rigid as he stares down at the blade missing his most important bits only by a hair’s breadth... He gulps hard.

  A half-inch higher, and he’d be singing soprano.

  What the actual fuck?!” he exclaims.

  Alex glowers, wiping the blood from her nose. “You’re lucky I’ve got better things to do.”

  Henry struggles, feet scrabbling for an angle that won’t result in self-inflicted neutering. He tugs at the knife—groaning when it refuses to budge.

  Alex watches for a moment, amused. Then she mock-salutes, spins on her heel, and strides back toward the car.

  “You can not just leave me here!” Henry shouts.

  Alex doesn’t dignify that with a response, merely scoffs. She slides into the driver’s seat, seatbelts clicking.

  “What kind of idiot leaves the engine running?” she mutters, loud enough for him to hear, before slamming the door shut.

  Henry’s panic sets in fast. “No, no, no, Alex—” His voice rises as the car revs. “Don’t go! Alex!”

  She floors it, flipping him off through the window as she speeds away.

  Henry watches the taillights disappear down the street, and lets out a frustrated roar.

  “Shit!”

  The tires screech as Alex speeds away, the car fishtailing for half a second before she regains control. The night air is thick with the scent of burnt rubber and damp asphalt, but she doesn’t slow down. Not yet. Not when adrenaline is still thrumming through her veins like a war drum.

  Her hands tighten on the wheel, the echo of Henry’s voice ringing in her head.

  "What the actual fuck?!"

  She scoffs under her breath. He’ll be fine. Probably. Annoyed, but alive. Maybe next time, he’d think twice before putting his hands on her.

  The hospital glows ahead, a sterile beacon against the darkness. She pulls into the lot, parking haphazardly before shutting off the engine. For a moment, she just sits there, breathing, fingers drumming against the wheel.

  Then she sighs, shoving the door open.

  The night is cool against her skin, but she barely notices. Her mind is already ahead of her, inside those walls, looking for Chris.

  One crisis at a time.

  She barely makes it two feet when—

  CRASH!

  Something heavy slams onto the car behind her, shattering the windshield. She spins around just in time to see Nod striding toward her.

  "Can I not catch a fucking break!" she yells at the universe.

  Nod answers with a guttural roar of his own before kicking her straight through the hospital entrance.

  Glass explodes as Alex crashes through the transparent doors, landing hard on the tile. The lobby erupts into chaos—nurses and visitors scrambling for cover.

  Groaning, she squeezes her eyes shut as her wounds knit themselves back together. One last sigh, she staggers upright, shaking off the broken shards of glass.

  Nod steps through the shattered entrance, his wicked grin widening. Alex exhales, already exhausted but eager to put an end to this, and moves the maniac, bracing herself for a fight—.

  SIRENS.

  Nod angles his head toward the wailing sound like a dog, muscles tensing as he finally turns to look.

  A pair of police cars screech to a halt, tires burning against the pavement. Doors fly open, officers spilling out in formation, weapons raised.

  “Oh, come on,” Alex mutters under her breath. Bystanders and law enforcement officials never fared well in situations like these.

  Nod’s grin stretches wider, a slow, knowing curl of his lips. His stance shifts, muscles flexing, his bare chest squelching open as his thick tentacles unfurl from his body, writhing in anticipation. Things were about to get ugly.

  Suddenly, a fucking portal flickers open midair, crackling with red energy.

  Everyone freezes, Nod and Alex included. The cops hesitate, caught between their horror at Nod’s tentacles and the two figures stepping out of the fiery rift—Henry and a middle-aged man.

  "Henry?" Alex blurts, completely thrown. How the hell had he gotten free that fast?

  Everyone else distracted by Henry’s lightshow, Nod lunges for an officer. The officers—bless their training—recover just fast enough to fire, but the bullets bounce harmlessly off Nod’s skin. He’s fast and he’s invulnerable, and can apparently jump really goddamn high—

  Alex moves on instinct, pivoting toward the officer Nod is about to dismember, feet shifting, fists clenching. She could stop this.

  Explaining why she could stop it however, would be catastrophic. But what if that cop had someone waiting at home? Someone who’d miss him?

  Her fingers twitch. Metal hums in response. Henry’s car nearby groans as its frame starts to crumble, responding to her call—

  A second portal blinks into existence directly in front of Nod’s target. The lumbering oaf stumbling straight through it and vanishing.

  The man with Henry claps his hands together with a flourish, the portal now housing an irate behemoth snapping shut with an impressive shower of red sparks.

  Alex stares.

  Well… shit.

  “We need to leave,” Henry says urgently.

  Alex’s head jerks toward him, her mind catching up. Chris.

  "I’m not going anywhere without—"

  The man moves fast.

  Before she can even protest, another portal erupts beneath them—

  And swallows them whole.

  She blinks.

  The air changes. The scent of blood and asphalt is gone.

  Instead—coffee. Cinnamon. Faint traces of baked goods.

  They’re in Henry’s café.

  Alex’s head snaps toward Henry, irritation flashing across her face.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she demands, voice sharp and edged with barely restrained fury. “I need to see Chris!”

  "You can't go back there," Henry says, his voice firm, brooking no argument.

  Alex scoffs, eyes narrowing. "Sure I can. I'm just going to walk out of here."

  She strides toward the door, but Henry moves in front of her, blocking her path with an urgency that makes her pause for half a second.

  "Please don’t make me do this," he warns, a quiet plea layered beneath the steel in his voice.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  Alex crosses her arms, eyes flashing with something close to amusement. "Haven't we done this dance before? You try to stop me, and I pin you to a tree?" She spits the words, laced with poorly concealed anger.

  The older man steps forward before Henry can respond. "The police will be stationed outside the hospital by now. Unless you plan to explain what just happened back there, I’d advise against returning."

  Alex turns to him, truly taking him in for the first time. He looks ordinary enough, aside from the barely perceptible way the air seems to hum around him. Like he doesn’t quite belong.

  "I’m sorry, who are you, and why should I care about anything you have to say?"

  Henry scowls, arms crossing over his chest. "That’s my dad. He got me out of the tree you so unkindly left me in."

  Alex eyes the man again, her gaze narrowing with suspicion as she tilts her head slightly.

  “If that’s your dad, how come you’re so ordinary?”

  Henry stiffens, offended. “I resent that.”

  The man steps forward, extending a hand. Alex doesn’t move. Doesn’t even glance at it.

  Henry sighs. “She won’t shake it.”

  Unbothered, the man retracts the gesture smoothly. “My name is Roz'Akgrknyx'Yx. But you can call me Rick.”

  Alex blinks at him. Her brow arches, unimpressed. Either that name was pulled from a Scrabble bag, or his parents had access to a questionable amount of psychedelics. "Roz'Akgrknyx'Yx? Couldn't afford more vowels?"

  Rick chuckles, the sound far too relaxed for someone who’d just been mocked. "I'm impressed. Most people struggle with it."

  Alex snorts dismissively. "It’s not that hard."

  "It’s easy for you. You’re Naetunian."

  The words hit like a slap to the face.

  A heavy silence slips between them—dense, suffocating. No one moves. No one speaks.

  Alex squints at him, her expression darkening. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

  Rick’s smile fades, giving way to something heavier. “It’s what we are.”

  She laughs then—short, sharp, and completely devoid of humor. Her posture stiffens as she leans back, arms folded like armor. “Is that a label or an insult? Because I’m not following either way.”

  Henry watches her quietly, pity swimming in his eyes. She doesn’t miss it—and she doesn’t appreciate it.

  “You don’t know?” he asks gently, too gently.

  The tone alone ignites a fresh wave of irritation in her. Her scowl deepens like storm clouds on the verge of thunder.

  “Okay,” she snaps, throwing her hands up. “I don’t have time for this interstellar soap opera. I’m leaving.”

  She steps toward the door.

  Henry steps in front of it. Again.

  She bares her teeth. “Henry, move. Or I swear I will dismember you.”

  He raises his hands in mock surrender, but stays exactly where he is. “Just—wait. The people who attacked you? They’re from Nekkar—a planet light-years away from Earth.”

  Rick nods. "Sister planet to Naetune. Except without the mindset of civilization."

  Alex stares at them, waiting for some sign of humor, a punchline, anything. It doesn’t come.

  "So you’re saying those were aliens?" She looks at Henry. "You’re an alien?"

  Henry shrugs. "My mom was human, so technically, I’m half."

  She stares at him for a long moment, then sighs, her hands falling to her sides in resignation. "Honestly, I have no idea why I’m even surprised anymore. Aliens were just about the last thing left to pop up." She exhales, almost in disbelief, then adds derisively, "Let me guess—there’s a spaceship involved?"

  Henry nods. "Yours, actually."

  Alex blinks. "What do you mean, mine?"

  "The crystal everyone’s after? It’s a battery—a power source.” Henry says. “Chris was working with the military to weaponize it."

  "And? He’s a weapons manufacturer. Why is that suspicious?"

  Henry hesitates. "Because he was working with the Extra-Terrestrial Task Force."

  Alex stares blankly, trying to wrap her mind around the revelation. It seemed like she’d been doing that a lot today. First, her jeweler had figured out that the necklace pendant was something special. Then, there were the two very interesting characters that had tried to separate her head from her torso. Now, this.

  "Basically, the people-good-aliens-bad kind of military," Henry thankfully clarifies.

  She processes that for a moment. "And what does this have to do with this spaceship that supposedly belongs to me?"

  Rick speaks up this time, his voice calm but firm. "The crystal is from your pod. It powered the ship that brought you to Earth."

  More silence. A stillness so absolute it feels like the world itself has stopped breathing. This day was getting more outrageous by the minute. And it was only—she lifts her wrist to check her watch—a few minutes past seven. Officially the longest day of her life.

  Alex stands there a beat too long, arms crossed, unimpressed, letting the weight of the moment stretch. Channeling her innermost Chris, she finally speaks.

  “So, I’m an alien now?”

  Rick meets her gaze evenly. “You always have been.”

  Alex presses her lips together, then tilts her head in exaggerated thought. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but this is a first for ‘alien.’”

  “Alex,” Henry says, his voice steady but unyielding, “you’re not from Earth. You’ve just been here so long, you don’t remember anything else.”

  Her smirk falters—just a flicker—but she recovers fast. “A spaceship isn’t the sort of thing one simply forgets.”

  Henry watches her closely. “Then how’d you get those scars on your brows?”

  A muscle in Alex’s jaw tenses. How the hell did he know about those?

  “How do you know about that?” she asks, her voice tight.

  Rick takes a step closer. The smooth skin of his forehead shifts, then parts with a grotesque squelch, revealing two embedded gemstones—crisp cyan, glowing like relics of something ancient. Something powerful.

  “This is what was taken from you.”

  Alex recoils before she can stop herself. The moment she sees them, something jagged and broken scrapes against the edges of her mind. A memory—or the ghost of one.

  She shoves it back, locking it away in that bottomless pit where all the unspoken things in her life go to rot.

  “I am not an alien,” Alex states, her voice flat, final.

  Rick tilts his head, studying her. “Then what are you?”

  Silence stretches between them.

  Finally, Alex exhales. “I don’t know. And frankly, I’ve stopped caring.”

  Henry steps in, slipping between his father and Alex as if to diffuse a standoff neither of them had realized they’d fallen into. “Well, whatever you are, we need your help sending them back.”

  Alex lets out a sharp laugh. “My help? Yeah, I’ll have to politely decline. Between Portal Dad and the general air of duplicity surrounding you”—she levels Henry with a pointed look—“you two seem to be handling yourselves just fine.”

  Henry flinches, his expression darkening with something close to hurt.

  Rick shakes his head. "Henry and I alone can’t stand against other aliens and a possible army of super-soldiers—”

  Alex, already halfway to the door, stops so fast her boots squeak against the tiled floor. She spins on her heel, eyes narrowing. "Wait. What super-soldiers?"

  "There are people out there messing with things they don’t understand," Rick continues, undeterred.

  Alex frowns, stepping closer. "No, no, back to the superhumans thing. I ended that. Twice."

  Henry watches her, head tilted as if he can’t quite believe she’s only now catching up. "The military’s been reviving old projects," he says. "And they have a very angry score to settle."

  Alex clicks her tongue, her mind already racing ahead, mapping out strategies, contingencies, solutions—then she stops herself. No. She’s done with this.

  Besides there was Chris who she definitely did not want to be at the receiving end of the blowbacks that always seemed to come with these particular lines of brusque actions.

  Alex holds up a hand. "Nope. Do not drag me into this depraved conflict."

  Rick scoffs, disbelief etched deep in every line of his face. He looks her over like she’s some lost child, like she left her common sense somewhere back through the portal. “Drag you into it? Alex, this is about you! Thousands of years of war and exile, all leading here—and you’re walking away?” He steps closer, voice sharp enough to cut. “What would Chris and Akio think?”

  Alex’s fists curl into tight knots at her sides.

  “Say their names again,” she warns quietly, her tone like a storm about to break. “I dare you. They have nothing to do with this.”

  Henry exhales and places a gentle hand on his father’s shoulder, easing Rick back a step. “Alex,” he says, more carefully, “you and I both know that’s not true. This is the same government project tied to that crystal. The same project that somehow landed Chris in the hospital. How long until it’s Akio too?”

  She doesn’t answer, but her jaw ticks. Henry’s words hit closer than she’d like to admit.

  Rick narrows his eyes. “There are a billion lives on the line—including theirs. You think walking away makes you noble? Safe?” He shakes his head. “It just makes you a coward.”

  Alex clicks her tongue, irritation sparking at the back of her teeth. “Damn,” she mutters, rubbing her temple. “You’re really going for the guilt play, huh? Trying to sucker me into caring?”

  Henry lifts a brow. “Is it working?”

  She stares at them both for a long beat, letting their words settle. Weighing. Measuring.

  Then she shrugs, turns, and walks to the door. “No.”

  Her hand touches the handle, and she pauses. One push and she’s out, Chris-bound. She considers asking Henry Sr. for a portal, but something in Rick’s face tells her he wouldn’t be quite so accommodating after her less-than-cordial goodbye.

  “Look,” Alex says, voice light but distant, “I wish I could help. Really. But I can’t. Priorities and all that nonsense.” She waves a hand vaguely, the picture of disinterest—like this was just another stranger’s problem and not something threatening the only people she cared about.

  “Can’t or won’t?” Henry asks, and this time, the edge in his voice is gone. It’s softer. Disappointed.

  “A little bit of both, actually.” Her gaze flickers, just for a second. Chris had already gotten hurt chasing this madness. She wasn’t about to let it swallow him—and everyone else—whole.

  Without another word, she reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out the necklace. The pendant glints faintly in the low café light as she tosses it to Henry with an easy flick.

  He catches it, eyes narrowing. The weight of it settles in his palm, and for a moment, he just stares. Then he looks up at her, betrayal flashing like lightning behind his eyes.

  “It was with you this whole time?” he growls, voice low and tight.

  “In my defense,” Alex says with a careless shrug, “I didn’t know what it was until, like, thirty seconds after you asked.” She leans against the glass door with practiced calm. “Also, you were acting shady as hell.”

  Henry scoffs, laughter sharp with disbelief as he closes his fingers tightly around the pendant.

  Alex tips an invisible hat, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Good luck with… whatever this is.” Then she throws the door open.

  The early evening air rushes in, cool and biting. Rick’s voice follows her, cracked with urgency.

  “No, wait! I’ll take you back.”

  Alex pauses, fingers still curled around the door handle. “Back where?”

  Rick meets her gaze, unwavering. “Naetune. To your family.”

  The temperature in the café seems to plummet. The noise of the world outside muffles, as if someone turned down the volume on reality itself. Alex blinks, releasing the door slowly, unaware of how slack her jaw has gone.

  “…What.”

  The word barely makes it past her lips. The sharp intonation she intended vanishes somewhere between her lungs and her throat.

  Rick presses forward, sensing the fracture in her resolve. “Your parents,” he says quickly, as though afraid the moment might slip through his fingers. “Velkor and Fyara. They’re alive.”

  Alex’s pulse stumbles. Her brain scrambles to process the words, but they slip through her grasp, impossible to pin down.

  Rick doesn’t stop. “Even your brother.” He spreads his hands, all the flair of a practiced showman. “The answers to every question you’ve ever had. If you help us handle this situation.”

  An ultimatum. Clever. Ruthless.

  It’s a cheap shot, and Alex knows it. But that doesn’t make it any less effective.

  Her expression shifts, skepticism cutting through the shock like a blade. “Why does this matter to you?” she demands, voice steady now, sharp. Her eyes drill into Rick, searching for cracks. For dishonesty. For anything other than cold, calculated leverage. “This isn’t even your planet.”

  Rick doesn’t hesitate. He jabs a finger at the ground, punctuating every word. “Henry lives here. And he can’t leave. That matters to me.”

  Alex watches him for a long moment. The weight of it all presses down—memories she doesn’t have, a home she’s never known, a past ripped from her like pages from a book.

  Then, with a slow nod, she pulls the glass door open again. This time, she doesn’t hesitate.

  She steps outside, pausing only to glance over her shoulder. “I’ll think about it.”

  And then she’s gone.

  Henry exhales sharply, shaking his head as he turns to his father.

  “What?” Rick grumbles.

  “That could probably have gone a lot better, don’t you think?”

  Rick scoffs, shoving his hands into his pockets as he strides deeper into the café, leaving Henry alone to stare after the woman who might be their only hope.

  Sometime in Macedonia: 331 BC …

  The air is thick with the scent of oil and dust, the Macedonian sun casting harsh, golden light across the sprawling encampment. Soldiers move like ghosts between tents, murmuring in the cadence of war. In the center of it all, Alexander the Great stands, arms crossed, watching the child before him with the critical gaze of a man who has seen gods fall and empires crumble. She is no more than six years old—brow furrowed in concentration, sweat beading at her temple. dwarfed by the slab of iron she is attempting to lift with nothing but her mind.

  “Again,” he orders, his voice a razor against the desert air.

  Alex clenches her tiny fists, jaw locking in defiance. The wrecked remains of a war chariot lie before her, broken and abandoned from a past skirmish, its twisted metal ribs protruding from the sand like the skeleton of some long-dead beast. It is far heavier than anything she has ever tried to lift.

  But Alexander does not care for limitations.

  She exhales sharply, narrowing her eyes as she reaches out—not with her hands, but with something deeper, something woven into the marrow of her bones. The iron groans in protest, dust trembling around it, but it does not rise.

  Alexander steps closer, his presence both an oppressive force and a silent demand. He does not waste words on praise; she is not here to be coddled. Instead, he speaks as if delivering a command. “You think this is difficult?” He asks, voice dipping into something almost cruel. “You think the enemy will give you time to struggle? Time to learn?”

  The pressure in Alex’s skull intensifies, a pounding rhythm against her temples. The metal quivers, shifts an inch, then crashes back down. Her breathing is ragged, frustration bleeding into her small frame.

  Alexander clicks his tongue. “Pathetic.”

  Alex’s nails dig into her palms, tiny crescents of fury imprinted into her skin. She lifts her chin, blue eyes burning with defiance. “It’s too big.”

  He crouches, bringing himself to her level, though the weight of his presence makes him seem taller than any man alive. “No, little one. You are too small.” His fingers curl beneath her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You are not a person. You are a weapon. And weapons do not struggle.”

  She swallows, a tiny droplet of blood making its way down from her nose. Alexander catches it with his thumb, swiping it away.

  He rises again, turning his back to her. “Do you know what makes a man weak, child?” His voice is smooth, but edged like a blade honed too many times.

  Alex’s lip twitches, but she doesn’t answer.

  Alexander snorts, eyes narrowing with something close to amusement. “Parents,” he continues, pacing slowly around her, his steps measured. “A man tethered by love is a man burdened by expectation. A soldier with something to return to is a soldier who hesitates.” His gaze locks onto hers, sharp and testing. “And hesitation, little one, is what gets you killed.”

  “I had parents once,” he continues, voice like steel grinding against stone. “Do you know what they did? They made me weak.” He gestures vaguely to the battlefield, where his soldiers stand at the ready, unaware of the brutal lesson taking place mere steps away. “I buried my father, and my mother wept. That was the last time I let someone own a piece of me.”

  Alex watches him, silent, absorbing every word. She has never spoken of parents—of a mother she doesn’t remember, of a father she has never known. She is not sure why this lesson feels directed at her.

  Alexander watches her too closely, as if reading the thoughts she refuses to voice.

  “Tell me, child,” he says, tilting his head. “Would you weep for a father you never met? Would you waste your strength mourning a mother who did not fight to keep you?”

  The words strike something deep and ugly in her chest, but she tamps it down. Weakness is unacceptable.

  “No,” she says, and her voice does not waver.

  He turns his head just enough to glance at her over his shoulder. A slow, approving smile spreads across his lips, but it does not reach his eyes.

  “Good. If you ever hope to be more than a burden, you will do what I did.”

  She says nothing. But when she turns back to the iron, there is something different in her posture—something colder, something sharper. The air hums again, energy crackling like a brewing storm. The metal shifts, groaning louder than before.

  This time, it does not fall.