“Any last-minute tips?” I whisper to Catfish.
“Don’t have your hands too close on the handle. Other than that, you’re on your own, kiddo.”
Taco starts strong but goes wide on every third swing.
Jackal cheats by going after a tree that wouldn’t hold a squirrel’s weight.
“Disqualified,” Wraith shouts. “That’s a bush, not a tree.”
Jackal shrugs. “We don’t all live in massive houses.”
Grudge steps up to his tree, and that fucker isn’t small.
“You got this, babe,” Lucy shouts, doing something akin to a cheerleader flourish.
In fairness, he does. Twelve strokes.
But I’m watching. Learning. Assimilating. Taco wasted energy, but Grudge was clinical.
Atom does it in fourteen, but the way Ember hugs him afterwards makes me think he already feels like a champion.
“You’re up,” Jackal says, but he catches Shade’s eyes, and I swear I see something pass between the two of them. The kind of connection River and I are trying to hide. It’s so fleeting, I can’t be certain.
I grin. “You set such a high bar.”
“Fuck you,” he says, playfully shoulder checking me as I slip my coat off.
“Oh, Wren’s bringing the big guns,” Smoke says.
I flip him the bird. “Please be aware, this is my first attempt at cutting down a tree. Ever.”
Atom groans. “Oh, here we go with the excuses already.”
We trudge to my tree, and once we’re there, it looks a lot bigger and thicker than I remember. So, I look at Jackal. “Remember. Size matters.”
Shade catches my eye and winks.
For a moment, I forget the danger. I forget the cartel and the FBI. I’m with friends. Catfish folds his arms across his chest and tips his chin to the trunk, like I should get on with it and prove myself.
I swing the axe, and it thunks hard into the bark, and I laugh, giddy from the motion. It’s harder to pull out than I thought it would be. My next stroke hits the trunk, but about five inches higher than the first one.
“Yeah, Wren’s a real natural,” Jackal goads.
“Just finding my rhythm,” I say.
It takes thirty-seven strokes. And everyone applauds when my tree finally topples.
Shade shakes my hand. “Solid effort.”
“You’re being generous. I sucked.”
He chuckles at that. “Yeah. You did.”
Catfish swings his axe over his shoulder. “Let me show you how it’s done.”
He steps up to his tree. Controlled and measured. Every time his axe hits the tree, he hits his mark.
Fen counts excitedly, like he knows something I don’t.
