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Mine.

Mercy begins covering Raven’s work area.

“We’ll finish final checks before the procession.”

The procession.

Closing day.

Festival events have been dragged across the schedule for days because Ravenfork managed to turn a funeral festival into a security nightmare.

Only here could that sentence make sense.

I strip my gloves while Mercy washes her hands beside me.

“Still thinking?”

I know exactly what she means.

“Yes.”

“I didn't ask about Bitter.”

“I know.”

She did not have to.

Mercy recently offered me a permanent place in the program.

Not a temporary student slot.

A place.

Finish my training here. Work with her. Learn restorative art properly. Maybe stay on after.

When she offered, my first thought was yes.

My second was Bitter.

That made me say I needed time.

I hate that too.

I left Razor because I finally understood how dangerous it is when a woman's life becomes organized around a man.

I refuse to build my next one the same way just because this man has prettier eyes and better coffee.

“I like it here,” I say.

Mercy dries her hands. “You're allowed.”

“I like the work.”

“You're good at it.”

“I like Lark.”

“Questionable judgment.”