“Hello, Finn.” I laugh, wrapping my arms around him and the bow now resting across his back. “I knew you were here before I even saw you.” I turn to look at them all. “I knew I was safe.” “Oh, really?” Finn raises an eyebrow at me, his brown hair glinting auburn in the dying firelight. “The arrows.” I gesture to the dozen littering the camp and its former occupants. “Those are the Resistance’s arrows. The ones you make with the red arrowheads.” Finn smirks at my knowledge of his handiwork. “And I knew that you were the one firing them, because you always carve an F at the bottom of the shaft.”
