WorkingwithAveryislike working with a general who wants to court-martial me between every strategic decision.
She's everywhere at once: coordinating defensive positions, adjusting tactics on the fly, keeping her people calm while raiders storm the south perimeter. And I can't stop tracking her movements, can't stop calculating threat vectors around her position, can't stop thinkingkeep her aliveeven while I'm fighting for my own life.
My traps take down the first wave: pit traps, tripwires, Molotov positions that turn the approach into a kill zone.
Old Hawk wasn't expecting resistance. The confusion is beautiful to watch.
"Push them toward the northwest!" Avery's voice cuts through the chaos, and something in my chest responds to the command in her tone. "Cover the gap by the medical building!"
I'm fighting alongside her people, and it feels different than fighting alone. There's a rhythm to the way her guards trust eachother, the way she positions resources without hesitation. The way I find myself moving to protect her flank without conscious thought, my body responding to her presence like we've been doing this for years instead of days.
They've done this before. Three years ago, in this same settlement, against worse odds.
They survived that. They'll survive this.She'llsurvive this. I'll make damn sure of it.
Jenna fights with us, armed with a rifle she barely knows how to use but determined to stand against the man who stole her life. Her aim is terrible. Her courage isn't.
"Behind you!" Avery shouts.
She's shouting at me.
I spin, take out a raider who'd gotten past the traps, feel the hot spray of blood across my face. No time to think. Only react. Only note that Avery was watching my back while leading a battle.
The thought does something warm and dangerous to my chest.
Old Hawk himself leads the final push. He’s a big man with cold eyes and the kind of cruelty that comes from having all the power. He fights his way toward the command center, toward Avery, like he knows exactly who he needs to kill.
Ice floods my veins. Not fear for myself. Fear for her.
He doesn't get there.
I intercept him near the water tower, and this fight is personal in a way none of the others were. This bastard wants to hurt Avery. Wants to destroy what she's built. Wants to add her to his collection of broken settlements and enslaved survivors.
Over my dead body.
Our fight is brutal, fast, the kind of close combat where whoever makes the first mistake dies. Old Hawk is good.Experienced. But I've been training for this moment since I heard Clearwater's distress call three years ago.
And now I'm fighting for more than redemption. I'm fighting for the woman who rebuilt from ashes and deserves to keep what she's built.
The knife goes into his throat while his hands are still reaching for me.
When it's over, Clearwater stands. Damaged, bloodied, but standing.
Two of Avery's people are dead. Five more wounded seriously. The graves they're digging will hold good people who trusted her to keep them safe.
I find her at the gravesites that afternoon. She stands alone, shoulder bleeding from a bullet she still hasn't let anyone treat properly, staring at the fresh-turned earth.
"You did good," I say.
"Two people are dead."
"And forty-one are alive. Without your leadership, this settlement would have been destroyed."
"Don't try to make me feel better about death."
"I'm not." I move to stand beside her. "I'm trying to make you see what I should have seen three years ago. You're a good leader. Maybe the best I've encountered. Even when the choices are impossible."
She turns to look at me.
