And there it is, the whole of her, laid out plain, and I understand at last why she's the most dangerous person in this entire war. Not despite being an overlooked human girl from a fishing town. Because of it. Every wound the world gave her, the poverty, the invisibility, the being written off, she took each one and sharpened it into exactly the skill that's about to end my cousin. She was forged for this and nobody ever noticed, least of all the people who did the forging.
"I love you," I tell her, because it's the only adequate response to watching someone reveal the whole architecture of their strength. "I don't say it enough in daylight, with the papers out and the coffee going cold. But I do. I love the girl who kept her family's books at eleven. I love the girl who turned being ove
