There’s something else. I have to hold very still to make sure I’m not imagining it. No, the bow is alive in my hands. I press it against my cheek and feel the slight hum travel through the bones of my face. “What’s it doing?” I ask. “Saying hello,” explains Beetee with a grin. “It heard your voice.” “It recognizes my voice?” I ask. “Only your voice,” he tells me.
