“How did you think he got . . .” Izzy leaned over the table, reaching for my hat, and I dipped my head so she could take it. She removed my hat with one hand and pushed the short strands of my hair up with the other, no doubt showing Fitz the scar he’d seen multiple times over the last two years. “That? I knew you’d have a scar!” “Eleven stitches,” I told her.
