“I’m already carrying a hammer around,” Bolt shot back with a grin.
North rolled his eyes but was smiling. "I've heard enough about your hammer for one day."
"What about you, North?" Bolt asked, turning his attention. "Still thinking about getting more ink?"
"I don't know," North said slowly. "Maybe."
"Maybe?" Fly asked, sitting up straighter. "What are you thinking?"
North hesitated, then looked at Fly directly. "Something... something for us and for Mei."
Fly's expression softened. "Really?"
Shamrock and Bolt paused too, the way men did when they recognized that real tone.
North reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He held it for a second, then handed it to Fly.
Fly took it, unfolding it carefully.
North kept his eyes on the water. “The last time we were together we got ink, and it meant something,” he said. “It should mean something again.”
Fly looked up at him. “Then what is it?”
North turned, meeting his gaze squarely. “It’s us.”
“The hoop is the bond,” North went on. “Braided because it’s stronger that way. Three strands. No beginning. No end.” He tapped the mountain. “That’s me. I hold ground. That’s what I do.” His finger shifted to the feather. “That’s you. You read wind. You move. You see what the rest of us don’t.”
Fly swallowed.
“The star,” North said quietly, “is Mei. She’s still guiding us, whether we like it or not.” His thumb rested on the anchor at the center. “And this is where it all started. The Academy. The thing that tied us together before the rest of the world got its claws in.”
Shamrock let out a low whistle. “Geezus,” he murmured. “That’s not just ink.”
Bolt nodded once. “That’s a statement.”
Silence settled around them, broken only by the surf.
Shamrock cleared his throat. “Where would you put it?”
North didn’t hesitate. He pressed his palm flat over his chest, just above his heart. “Here. I carry things where they can’t be ignored.”
Fly nodded slowly. That tracked.
He looked back down at the design, then turned his own wrist over, fingers tracing the inside of his left forearm. “I’d put it here,” he said. “Inner wrist.”
Bolt raised a brow. “That seems deliberate.”
Fly’s mouth twitched. “It is.”
He flexed his hand, watching the tendons move. “This is the hand that steers. The one that remembers weight and angle. I don’t need the world to see it. I just need to know it’s there.”
North studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “That makes sense.”
Shamrock exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “You two are impossible,” he said, voice rough. “You know that?”
Fly folded the paper carefully and handed it back to North. “When you’re ready,” he said, “I’ll go with you.”
North took it, something like relief flickering across his face. “Yeah,” he said. “It wouldn’t be the same if we didn’t share this.”
