My enemies are too great. Too many. And I too weak. I shake my head, running my thumb over her knuckles. “I thought I would never see you again.” “Yet here you are.” Somehow she makes it sound cold. So like my mother to be the one with dry eyes when both the men can barely speak. I always wondered how I survived the Institute. It damn well wasn’t because of my father. He was a gentle man. Mother is the spine in me. The iron. And I clutch her hand as if such a simple gesture could say all that.
