He peeked over my shoulder. “Getting it all down?” “Every word.” “Good,” he whispered. “We have a lot of shelves to fill.” I closed the book, stuffed it in my saddlebag, and we left to go home. Who will write our story, Jase? We will, Kazi. You and I will write our own story. And side by side, every day, that is what we do.
