Theea
resilient little thing, just like mama raised you
There’s something both comforting and mildly disorienting about hearing him say he’s still figuring things out. The White Knight himself, still sorting through the mess like the rest of us. A small part of me relaxes—maybe I’m not as behind as I thought. But another part stirs uneasily. If he hasn’t found solid ground yet… will I ever?
I shake the thought off, tucking it into the mental pile labeled “later,” and glance up in time to catch his wink. That gets a smile out of me—crooked and knowing.
“I think my mom would be insulted by anything less than that kind of praise,” I say lightly, and I’m sure I don’t need to elaborate. She’s got a quite the ego, sharp and coiled and proud. She’d hear that compliment and pretend it was expected… then go somewhere private and hold it close.
As Ronin steps back, I take a second to straighten my shirt and tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear—instinct, maybe, to reassemble myself after letting my guard down. But then he throws an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into a half-hug, and it’s like someone striking a match in a long-dark room. The loneliness I hadn’t realized I was still carrying today scatters like startled birds.
I hug him back without hesitation, careful not to squeeze too tightly—though part of me wants to hold on like he might vanish. I settle for a firm squeeze and a smile that says more than I know how to put into words.
“I’d be happy to help,” I murmur. I’ve missed companionship so much. Someone to look to for guidance, for comfort.
When he mentions smoothies, I perk up. “They’re one of my favorite things now,” I say with a grin. “Mom used to say they didn’t even exist back in Northaven. Like they were some kind of decadent futuristic dessert.” I huff a laugh. “She never trusted the ‘green ones.’”
I follow him out into the heat, the sun catching the dust in the air like flecks of gold. There are memories and stories here—ones that don’t belong to me but I feel keenly all the same, left behind in ashes and laughter, in feathers and old rooftops.
But there's something just starting too—and it’s mine.
FIN
I shake the thought off, tucking it into the mental pile labeled “later,” and glance up in time to catch his wink. That gets a smile out of me—crooked and knowing.
“I think my mom would be insulted by anything less than that kind of praise,” I say lightly, and I’m sure I don’t need to elaborate. She’s got a quite the ego, sharp and coiled and proud. She’d hear that compliment and pretend it was expected… then go somewhere private and hold it close.
As Ronin steps back, I take a second to straighten my shirt and tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear—instinct, maybe, to reassemble myself after letting my guard down. But then he throws an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into a half-hug, and it’s like someone striking a match in a long-dark room. The loneliness I hadn’t realized I was still carrying today scatters like startled birds.
I hug him back without hesitation, careful not to squeeze too tightly—though part of me wants to hold on like he might vanish. I settle for a firm squeeze and a smile that says more than I know how to put into words.
“I’d be happy to help,” I murmur. I’ve missed companionship so much. Someone to look to for guidance, for comfort.
When he mentions smoothies, I perk up. “They’re one of my favorite things now,” I say with a grin. “Mom used to say they didn’t even exist back in Northaven. Like they were some kind of decadent futuristic dessert.” I huff a laugh. “She never trusted the ‘green ones.’”
I follow him out into the heat, the sun catching the dust in the air like flecks of gold. There are memories and stories here—ones that don’t belong to me but I feel keenly all the same, left behind in ashes and laughter, in feathers and old rooftops.
But there's something just starting too—and it’s mine.
FIN
so you got that wildfire in your soul
don't you ever let it go
make it burn so bright that they all know
don't you ever let it go
make it burn so bright that they all know
