The market was too crowded. Newhaven’s streets were sweltering hot. The sheer volume of people made it near impossible to navigate without brushing arms with strangers. And under those conditions, swiping a coin purse, or even a few in quick succession, would be child’s play for some. She grit her teeth, eyes darting from face to face too quickly for her mind to hold on to any features. Her fingers toyed with the dagger at her waist as if to seek comfort, finding none. They were stiff and anxious. Anticipating something would soon disrupt the mundane scenery she found herself in.

She glanced at her company and without thinking stepped closer to the man. Enough that her arm was pressed to his. He glanced back, arched an eyebrow, but otherwise disregarded her sudden display of nerves. He knew how she felt about the market. Especially when it was this busy.

“We won’t be much longer,” he whispered. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” she lied.

It was her fault for choosing to come along, after all. She knew this was the most likely place she’d come across the people she should be trying to avoid. Making sound decisions, unfortunately, had never been her strong suit.

“Excuse me, pardon me, I am so very sorry.”

The familiar voice creeped in through her ears, slithered in a nauseating chill down the back of her neck and across her spine. Her gaze frantically searched the crowd for the man who it belonged to. She found him sliding past a well dressed gentleman who hadn’t yet realized his coin purse was now missing from his belt. Her gaze followed as he moved on to another mark with practiced ease. He appeared a respectable young man on the surface; clean shaven, slicked blond hair, immaculate clothes, a disarmingly handsome smile. It made her blood run cold and her fingers tighten on the hilt of her dagger. They ached as she slid the blade out halfway, only to be stopped by a firm hand on her wrist.

"Johanna."

The touch brought her mind places she didn't want to go and as she reeled back into the present. Her ‘attacker’ had his hands up defensively. His dark eyes watched her with concern.

"Stand down," he said.

Her hand remained tight on the dagger and she whipped her head around, desperately trying to keep the thief within her sights.

Too late.

"Johanna."

"I lost him," she muttered, fingers loosening on the dagger, hand falling helplessly to her side then balling into a fist. "I lost him," she repeated, quieter, her voice breaking despite her will.

"And what did you intend to do? Unsheathe a knife in the middle of this crowded market crawling with guards? Bleed him in an alleyway? Did you even think that far?"

"He'll go on to hurt someone else, Alton."

“If your priority was to prevent further harm you would have allowed me to pursue this for you,” Alton retorted. “That’s clearly not the case.”

She merely shrugged. No matter how many times she’d explained it, Alton wasn’t in a place to understand. She didn’t fully understand it herself. The right thing to do; the selfless approach to take, would be to allow Alton to handle it. However, there was a certain possessiveness to her anger. Some vicious part of her demanded to see the life drain from their eyes and she’d long given up any thought of denying those impulses.

“Listen, kid.” Alton sighed. “We talked about this. You wanna stick around, you have to learn to consider the consequences of your actions because they won’t be just yours anymore. And right now you have two choices: go hunt down that thief on your own, or come home with me.”

That gave her pause. Just a year prior she would have scoffed at the word home, spat in the face of anyone who called her a kid, defied any sort of attempt to reel her in, because at the very least she still had control over her own self. But truthfully she already felt too tired for her young age. Even in anger, the thought of going off on her own again made her resent her inability to allow her wounds to settle enough to heal.

“Home, then,” she mumbled. “Do we even have everything we need?”

Alton shrugged. “The essentials, at least. I’ll come back for the rest tomorrow. Here...” Before she could react, Alton tapped her forehead with something flat and hard, then held it in front of her eyes. “Don’t say I never let you indulge your unhealthy obsessions.”

The object was wrapped in a thin layer of parchment paper, neatly bound with string, but the sweet smell was instantly recognizable and she reached for it with poorly contained excitement. “Chocolate is very healthy, thank you.”

Alton’s lips twisted into a smirk at her protest. “If you had healthy amounts of it, maybe. You better slow that down or we’ll never save enough to escape this damn city.”

The quip dampened her excitement. “Oh, how much...”

Alton stopped her with a wave of his hand. “I’m messing with you, kid. Besides, you’ve been doing good work. You earned this. Just don’t eat it all at once, I’m not putting up with another sugar high.”

“One time,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes at his laughter.

“Eat.”

She read the word on the other woman’s lips. What little of her voice came through Johanna’s still ringing ears held no trace of anger or exasperation. No command or plea. And that, more than anything, fueled her spiteful decision to ignore it. The offering of food sat on the forest ground between them, untouched, and after a lengthy standoff, the other woman turned away.

Left to her own devices, Jo settled for watching as she sat down, back resting against the trunk of a tree, arms crossed over her chest, and the brim of her hat lowered enough to shield her eyes from the sun. There she remained, still as a statue, and if Johanna had enough will in her to scream she would have.

Shadows rose over the forest before she reached for the cold plate. A few ants had started to crawl over the hardened bread and cold slices of rabbit meat, she flicked them away one by one before finally admitting defeat.

She dug into it slowly despite the ravenous feeling in the pit of her stomach screaming that whatever she was giving it wasn’t enough. When was the last time she’d eaten? How far from the Healers’ camp had she traveled? Why was she even here?

A gentle thud disrupted her thoughts. Her eyes were drawn to the sound and immediately noticed the waterskin laying on the ground beside her. She glanced towards the woman and found her still hiding under the brim of her hat, as though she hadn’t moved at all. The offer of food and water hadn’t felt like a kindness. Accepting it felt like resignation. But her throat was dry and the fight had all but drained from her. She extended her arm to pick up the waterskin and immediately froze when she felt her sleeve hike up with the movement. The sensation of the fabric sliding across freshly healed tissue, leaving it exposed, drew a sound from her for the first time in days. A feeble whimper.

The other woman’s gaze turned on her and she scrambled to pull her sleeve back down. The plate of food slid off her lap and hit the ground as she scrambled backwards in a hopeless attempt to escape her own body. Her heart was throbbing in her ears, her sight blurred, every breath heaved in her chest. It felt like drowning. She wished she was.

A touch on her shoulder snapped her into focus. It was brief and light, just present enough to ground her. Her new companion was sitting in front of her, at arm’s length, and once she managed to get her attention she held out a roll of cloth wrappings.

After a moment’s hesitation she slowly reached for the offering, careful not to let her sleeve hike up again. Once she had them, the woman rose to her feet and wandered away. In the dark that befell their campsite, Jo could just barely make out her form as she settled down at the foot of the same tree and pulled her hat further down over her eyes.

It happened at the wrong time, in the wrong place. That part was her fault. Assuming they wouldn’t be trying to track her down was a tremendous oversight. Some people, once they decided they owned you, could never accept any other reality. If only she’d had the foresight. If she hadn’t allowed herself to become so comfortable in this new life.

It’d started to rain something fierce as she stumbled home. And somehow it hadn’t been enough to wash away all the blood. The echoes of their final gasps were barely enough to drown out the remnants of past mockery. And as she crossed the threshold of the only home she’d come to know, clothes soaked from rain and stained in blood, the concerned looks she received only made those voices ring louder in her mind. The world felt blurry and though she could hear her family’s frantic voices fill the space, somehow words had lost all meaning.

The palm of Alton’s hand struck her cheek. Not hard, just enough to force her into some semblance of focus.

“I sent you on an easy job, Johanna. What happened?”

She released a ragged breath, words catching in her throat. Alton had sent her on a job in his stead. The client wanted someone who could blend in and only make themself known if their business dealings somehow turned sour. It’d gone down without a hitch; and easy payout, and she’d been pleased with herself.

“They found me,” she managed.

With those three words, Alton’s expression turned to stone. The realization was followed by a sudden pounding at the door and a muffled voice calling from the other side. He let out an exasperated breath and gently pushed her towards the back of the house.

“I’ll handle this,” he said, then turned to his brother. “Get her cleaned up and then start packing; essentials only. We’re leaving Newhaven tonight if we’re able.”

She wanted to argue, apologize, or at least say something. They’d been planning this move for so long and running off in the middle of the night with only the essentials hadn’t been a part of that plan. But words wouldn’t come and the pounding on the door turned aggressive so she allowed Enzo to lead her away. They caught a glimpse of Alton’s voice as he opened the door before Enzo shut them in the bedroom, drowning out the conversation.

Enzo fetched her a change of clothes and a washcloth. Neither of them spoke as he helped her out of her soiled tunic and wiped the darkened blood persistently clinging to her skin. She hadn’t yet looked at him, and he hadn’t demanded it, but she could feel his eyes in search of hers. It made her feel small to stand there and accept, like a child who knew she’d broken something and was too frightened to see the damage. Enzo wasn’t like his brother. To him wielding a sword was the same as a carpenter wielding a hammer. It had never become a part of him in the same way it had for Alton. Or for her.

“Jo-jo.”

She looked at him then and was surprised to find him smiling. Though she shouldn’t have been. Enzo was the type to smile through anything.

“Doesn’t seem like any of this blood is yours, but... Are you hurt in any way?” he asked.

“No.”

“Good.”

He nodded, seemingly content with that scarce amount of information, and quickly moved on to helping her into dry unsoiled clothes.

“Is that the only question you have for me right now?” she asked, unable to keep a trace of laughter from her voice.

“It’s the only one that’s important,” he answered with a shrug. “Well, other than, I suppose, is it over?”

“I... Hope so,” she admitted. “I want to say yes, but it’s...” a trembling chuckle slipped past her lips and she turned away, aimlessly searching the room for a travel bag. “This isn’t a question I expected to answer so soon. Not tonight. Definitely not like this.”

Enzo found the bag before she could and began to haphazardly gather what was in their dresser. It dawned on her how in two years she hadn’t even allowed herself to own much beyond changes of clothes. They’d made a home out of a transitional state of being, still tied down to a place they longed to escape from. Holding off any permanent additions to their lives for when they finally reached something better. Most of Enzo’s books wouldn’t fit in their bag, nor did they count as essentials by Alton’s definition of the term, so they remained piled on the floor next to their bed alongside his lute.

Enzo cracked open the bedroom door. The living room was silent and dark; a clear indication that Alton had left without warning. Having no further instruction beyond ‘pack up’, they resigned themselves to waiting.

Enzo settled on his side of the bed and silently beckoned her to join him. She hesitated, still feeling ill-at-ease, but acquiesced after a moment. There was little else to do, and if they were to uproot their lives before the night was over, she supposed resting would be wise. So she settled into Enzo’s embrace, allowed him to softly brush through her still damp hair with his fingers, lulled herself into a near-unconscious state to the sound of the raging storm lashing their thin walls and straw roof.

Alton returned hours later. His heavy footfall rushed towards his own bedroom was quickly followed by scrambling, rummaging and a slew of muttered curses. By the time they got up to check on him he had finished packing a bag and had it set up by the front door.

“It’s that bad, huh?” Enzo asked.

“You have no idea.” Alton answered. He then turned to her, “they ambushed you in the noble district?”

“No.” She shook her head. “The client’s rendezvous point was on the outskirts of the commercial district, so we were close, but I never actually stepped foot in the noble district tonight, no.”

“It was close enough. I have pretty good friends on the guard, luckily, so this was them giving me a heads up. If you’re still within the city walls by the time the sun rises you won’t be seeing it ever again. Their words, not mine.”

Enzo snorted. “That’s a bit dramatic for a gang of thieves, don’t you think?”

“Enzo, your girlfriend slaughtered six people in an alleyway close enough to the council’s backyard that they could smell the blood. Of course they don’t give a shit about a handful of thieves, but this is Newhaven. Someone in the Council doesn’t like the Guard Captain and is using this to make some sort of a point about how well the man does his job. The usual bullshit.” Alton sighed. “I found a merchant who will be traveling out of the city headed south in a couple of hours. The man refused at first but the prospect of three hired swords watching his wagon at night changed his mind rather quickly. Can’t say I trust that very much, but it’s the best we have.”

“Whatever gets us there faster than walking.” Enzo shrugged.

She watched their back and forth, arms crossed over her chest. Her thoughts must have shown through in her expression, because the moment Alton met her eyes he shook his head, not giving her a chance to voice them.

“Don’t even think of suggesting it,” he warned.

“I’m the only one who needs to go,” she said, holding his gaze, unflinching. “I just want to be rational about this.”

“That’s not being rational, that’s you deciding to unburden us,” he argued. “Not how this works, kid.”

“How many people do I need to murder in one night for you to stop calling me that, I wonder,” she shot back.

Enzo laughed and held up his hands defensively. “She’s got you there, brother.”

“This isn’t a joke,” Alton scolded him. Enzo merely shrugged, a smirk still playing on his lips. “It’s a long grueling road to the desert, Johanna. People disappear without a trace crossing that forest and if anything were to happen we might never know what became of you. That’s out of the question.”

“You made a good point, love, but I’ve gotta admit his is much better,” Enzo added. The way his voice lost all trace of humor let her know this wasn’t an argument she could win. “This isn’t how we planned it but we’ll make it work.”

“I suppose,” she muttered.

Alton sensed the change in tone between them and muttered about still needing to pack before excusing himself to his room. She watched him disappear behind the closed door and breathed a sigh. There were things about her past she’d thus far only shared with Alton. Not because she couldn’t trust Enzo with it, but because it was easier. Less vulnerable. He never inquired about her feelings, or brought attention to what little of them he glimpsed. They were only as open as they needed to be. They both preferred it that way. Enzo, on the other hand, was a fully open book at all times. And even though he never demanded she be the same way, it only made her too aware of how much she still found herself struggling to say. They had always been good at filling their silences with idle chatter, foolish jokes, the gentle strum of lute strings, other far more intimate, but less conversational things. But there was none of that left to fill that space. Not tonight. And she couldn’t bring herself to break the mounting silence. Enzo was once again forced to do it himself.

“Listen,” he said. “I’ve asked very little of you in the past two years.” When she tried to interject, he raised his hand to silence her. “I didn’t say that to hold it over your head, love. You don’t owe me anything. Nothing that happened tonight changes that. I said it because I’m going to ask for something now.”

She drew in a deep breath and exhaled as she silently nodded, urging him to continue.

“Please, don’t ever stray so far I won’t be able to follow.”

The White Shadows believed that Peace manifested within in the form of acceptance; a notion that was introduced to her briefly in the months she’d spent bed-ridden in their camp. However, the Healers never provided her with a clear definition of acceptance. And as she followed a still practical stranger through the forest, she wondered if this was the closest to it she would ever be allowed to have.

They still hadn’t exchanged names. She’d taken to internally referring to her travel companion as “Hat Lady” and took a small amount of satisfaction in the thought that she’d likely disapprove of the name. The anger that once fueled the decision to pursue this woman had waned, but a lingering resentment kept her from asking for the real one. Thus, they remained anonymous.

She didn’t know where they were headed. The entire time she’d been following the hat lady, they meandered through the forest, but in the past week it became clear they were moving towards a specific destination. Still, the information wasn’t offered, and she made no attempts to ask for it. Until one morning, while idling under the shade of an oak tree, there was a light tap on her shoulder.

If she could give Hat Lady due credit for anything, it would be for how she always made sure to draw her attention before speaking. The Healers were confident her ears were not permanently damaged, her hearing had returned gradually over time, but her left ear still emitted a persistent ringing even months after. The constant sound left her irritable and made it difficult to focus on any other sounds. It was exhausting to do so, but at least she could put effort into listening if she knew she was about to be spoken to beforehand.

“We’re a couple of days away from a village called Ironforge,” Hat Lady said. “Have you ever been there?”

She shook her head and shot her a questioning look, unsure where this conversation was going. The woman sat beside her on the grass, though kept a respectful distance.

"It's a smithing village. They're always looking for hard workers and know not to ask too many questions. Not a bad place to settle for a while and get back on your feet."

Oh.

Her gaze hardened and whatever else the woman was about to say in order to sell this idea faded into a soft groan.

"You were heading south, weren't you?” she asked. “Someone of your skill would make a good life among the Crimson Shadows. There's no reason to discard those plans."

She only stared at first. Unsure how to express the spiraling thoughts surfacing in her mind. The sickening twist in the pit of her stomach. It wasn't even anger anymore. Anger wasn't enough. Finally, she gestured as if holding something in her hands and snapping it in half.

"Broken?"

She agreed with a faint hum. Hat Lady stared at her for a long moment as if trying to gauge what else was behind the word.

“Continuing to follow me won’t fix anything,” she said. “You do realize that?”

She repeated the breaking gesture she’d previously made, then opened her empty hands. Then she shrugged. Fixing it wasn’t the point. There was nothing to fix. There was nothing left. She wasn’t even sure why she was here, but there was nowhere else to be. No way to move forward or go back. Hat Lady seemed to have caught her meaning, or part of it, because she breathed out a sigh and changed her line of questioning.

“How well can you hear me? The Healers said your hearing impairment wouldn’t be permanent and you haven’t been staring at my lips as intently, so I’ll assume it is healing?” When she raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms defensively at the question, Hat Lady shrugged. “I didn’t ask and I don’t know why they assumed I’d want to know.”

She snorted, aggravated, but answered by tapping the spot just behind her right ear and giving the woman a thumbs up. She then tapped the same spot on her left and gestured with her hand flat, palm down, tilting it slightly from side to side. She emphasized the gesture with a small grimace.

“I see,” the woman mumbled. Their conversation lulled, although she knew it wasn’t yet over. Hat Lady seemed to be mulling over her next words, a level of hesitation she hadn’t displayed at any point before. And it indicated clearly what the next question would be. “I know you are physically capable of speaking. I have also noticed you attempt to do so on occasion only to give up. So I’m assuming you haven’t remained silent entirely out of spite.”

She shook her head briefly, watching the woman’s reaction as she did so. There was very little shown in her expression, merely inquisitiveness. No frustration. No pity. She opened her mouth and then closed it again when the mere thought of producing sound caused her chest to tighten. ‘I can’t. It’s difficult. It hurts...’ the words pounded against solid walls and she couldn’t find it within herself to voice anything more than a frustrated growl. Finally she held her hand in front of her chest and gradually squeezed it into a tight fist. As tight as she could physically make it. It wasn’t nearly enough to convey the actual feeling.

“Alright,” was all the woman said. The simple acceptance instantly eased some of the tension on her body and she dropped her arms to her sides with a soft sigh. “Are you literate?”

She merely shrugged. It had never been anyone’s priority to teach her as a child and as an adult she’d been too prideful to admit she needed teaching. One of the more innocuous secrets she kept from her family.

“You’ll have to learn,” the woman told her. When she frowned in response, hat lady raised an eyebrow. “If you want to make this arrangement more permanent we’ll require communication beyond the scope of your miming abilities... Exquisite as they are.”

Mockery oozed out of the words despite their lack of inflection. It was so unexpected that it nearly left her at a loss for how to respond. She recovered quickly, however, and held out her closed fist in front of her eyes, miming the action of turning a crank with her other hand as she slowly raised her middle finger.

“Hilarious,” her companion deadpanned. She then reached into her pocket and pulled out a book. “We’ll have to acquire simpler reading material but this one will have to do for now.”

She took the book and frowned at it, cracking the worn cover open and flipping through the pages without truly paying any mind to the words. Her focus was on the object itself. It showed signs of age, but it was well kept as only something with sentimental value would be. She turned the final page and, for the first time, found two words that drew her attention; scrawled in childish handwriting in the bottom right corner of the back cover. She scrutinized the letters, tracing each one with her index finger, then looked up to meet hat lady's gaze inquisitively.

"Yes, that's my name." When she continued to look at her in question, the woman calmly pulled the book from her hands. “Let’s start with vowels then.”

‘I’m not still trying to kill you’

The words, carefully etched into a piece of parchment, were forcefully shoved into her companion’s hand. She closely watched the woman’s expression as she read, thinking she briefly spotted a spark of amusement within her grey eyes.

“If you were, I’m sure you would have succeeded by now.”

She blinked, unsure whether to take the statement as praise or admonishment.

‘Sleep’

She mouthed the word this time, not wanting to expend energy trying to push her voice to work, nor wanting to squint under the moonlight in order to write it out. Normally, she would see the woman retreat into her tent at some point after sundown, but over the past few nights she’d gone to sleep while her companion remained awake, her bulky crossbow resting on her lap. For a moment it seemed as though she hadn’t noticed the silent scolding, but finally she muttered, “don’t worry about me,” then averted her eyes, shutting their communication down.

In the process of learning her letters, she’d finally learned a bit about her companion. Her name was Gabrielle Porter, she was born in the village of Oakstone; although she spent very little time there. She’d traveled across Valcrest often and had been to the desert many times. She had a family once, but had been alone for quite a while. She built her crossbow piece by piece for a very specific purpose. She also learned of the Wolfpack, and the circumstances that placed Gabrielle in a position to stay Death’s hand on that cursed day. That put all of their meandering and zeal into perspective, but didn’t quite explain why the woman was suddenly so on edge.

It put her on edge as well, and being ignored wasn’t helping. For a moment she considered making noise to draw the woman’s attention, but then thought better of it. There was no way to know what—or worse; who—could be lurking in the forest. She groaned softly, staring down at her roll of parchment, scribbled down words and then scratched them out. Finally she abandoned the endeavor and breathed out a deep sigh. She could just as well give up and try to sleep, but the thought made her even more uneasy. As a last resort, she tried to push past her mental barrier and will her voice to work. It didn’t, not at first anyway. She opened her mouth and couldn’t overcome the knot in her throat. She closed her mouth again and inhaled deeply, trying to push down the frustration already starting to build. She breathed out and tried again; nothing. Her hands were shaking, her chest hurt as if she was laying under something heavy, but finally she managed to get one word out, so quiet she thought it might go unheard even after all her effort.

“Gabe.”

The woman tensed but continued to face away. For a moment she assumed she would choose to ignore her yet again, but she did eventually turn to look at her.

“What did you just call me?” she asked.

Ignoring the question, she slowly pointed at her own eyes and then out into the darkness.

Gabrielle snorted. “I told you not to worry,” she chided. “I... I’ll feel more at ease once we move away from this area tomorrow.” Her tone made clear that was the only explanation she was willing to offer. “You should sleep. We don’t both need to be dragging our feet.”

She frowned, but at this point was forced to admit defeat. As she stood up from her spot near the unlit fire pit, Gabrielle spoke up again.

“Johanna.”

She hummed to show she was listening.

“Don’t call me Gabe. That’s not my name.”

At that, she grinned and offered a mocking salute before turning in for the night.

[Hunters Outpost | Cosmos 12th, 2526 | Late Night]

For the second time, Death spat her back into the world screaming. Her lungs ached, her breath heaved, and in her panic and confusion all she could think to do was fight against the hands attempting to pin her down. Memories flashed behind her eyes, and her mind reeled as she tried to grasp at the truth of who she was and where she’d been.

Burnt powder.

Blood.

Screaming.

Roses...

No, that wasn’t right.

“Johanna.”

The familiar voice broke through the fog, quiet and steady, and gave her something tangible to cling to. Awareness returned to her body in waves of nausea and a throbbing headache. Her eyes opened to familiar stone walls and a familiar hat-wearing silhouette. Her attempts to speak turned into a whimper as she finally stopped fighting Gabrielle’s restraints.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You’ve been barely functional for quite some time. You probably shouldn’t be jumping out of bed right away.”

Jo groaned and sluggishly rubbed at her eyes. Her arm felt heavy. Even her eyelids felt somehow sore. The words, however, were enough to jog her memories of the village. “When?” she muttered. “How long?”

“It’s summer,” Gabrielle answered.

She breathed out. "Seb?"

"He's safe." Gabrielle kept one hand on her shoulder still, as if concerned she might try to bolt. "You and that Wolf did a number on each other, but no one else was harmed."

The Wolf. Johanna swallowed a dry lump as she tried to get her mind to recall the young woman's face, but all she could remember clearly were bright blue eyes, the feeling of pushing her blade through flesh, and then...

Her body shuddered.

Every memory, every thought that followed was tinged with the bitter taste of iron, with the smell of dust and scorched earth...with all consuming loss and the agony left in its wake.

"The Wolf?" Jo asked through gritted teeth.

"On the brink but still alive when you left. She might have died on the way to Newhaven. We don’t kno—."

“No,” Jo cut in. “No,” she repeated, softer. There had been something, someone, holding her consciousness hostage. And, in the end, it had chosen to release her. “I know.”

Gabrielle squeezed her shoulder, then let her hand slip away with a quiet sigh. “We’ll worry about that later.”

Johanna nodded, though she wasn’t sure how much she could ‘worry about that later’. She allowed her gaze to wander the room. What few personal effects she remembered the twins having placed there were gone. Instead, she spotted her sword; sheathed and resting against the wall near the bed, the few books she enjoyed rereading; stacked on the opposite bed. The nail puzzle they’d picked up at the village was sitting on the table next to a water pitcher, and without thinking she reached for it.

“Lockwood has been trying to solve that since we brought you home.”

Jo chuckled, the sound trembling past her lips. “It’s easy,” she mumbled.

Gabrielle hummed in response, and from the corner of her eye Jo watched her reach for the water pitcher and fill a cup. She patiently waited for Jo to twist and turn the nails just at the right angle to pull them apart, and then offered it to her. Jo set the puzzle on the table, then took the water. After a few hesitant sips, she drained the cup in one large gulp and set it aside with a sigh of relief. It almost instantly eased some of the nausea and the aching in her throat.

“How are you feeling?” Gabrielle asked, refilling the cup and leaving it within arm’s reach.

Jo contemplated the question in silence for a long moment, then answered with the only word that felt fitting. “Angry.”

Her response drew a rare chuckle out of Gabrielle. “Good,” she said. “That makes two of us.”