I glanced at Jake, sitting beside me in the backseat. He was drawing, a blue crayon held between his fingers. He circled the outline of a black figure holding a sword and shield, pressing the crayon firmly against the page. I swallowed at my nerves, as I stared at his picture, and I asked, “Whatcha drawing, buddy?” “You,” he replied simply, not bothering to look at me. My snorted laugh was forced. “I don’t own a sword or shield. That’d be weird.” “You don’t need one,” he answered, his tone flat as he circled the figure over and over again in blue. “Don’t worry, Blake. You’ll make it better.
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