Quiet sessions in the woods behind our house. Sparring with dull blades and worn gloves. Long hours of drills until my arms ached and my legs buckled. I was barely thirteen when we started, and I’d hated every second of it at first.
Now? It was the only time I ever felt like I had a chance.
That was our plan for tonight too. He wasn’t on patrol, which meant we’d get in another round before bed.
We didn’t say much on the walk home. We didn’t need to. The silence between us had long since become comfortable. Communicative, even. A language of its own.
When we reached the front steps of the house, the porch light flicked on. The door swung open before we even got the chance to knock, and then—
“Daddy! Sely!”
Rhea.
Barefoot and wrapped in one of her cartoon-print blankets, she came flyi
