We. Such a small word, but it tightens my chest and makes it hard to swallow. It’s more than I deserve, surely. I want to pull her against me, to bury my face in her neck and remind myself that she’s alive, that she’s here, that she’s safe. But she’s angry with me, with the choices I’ve made. I force myself to be content with her hand on my arm. With the word we. She’s asked me for action. When Lilith asked, I balked. When Harper asks, I want to leap.
