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Her lips parted. “I—I thought I—”

“Not doing that very well today, are we?” She looked up, eyes flashing with something close to frustration. I leaned against the table and crossed my arms. “You think you’re ready for any of this? You can’t even clean the damn weapon right. Forget pulling a trigger—what’re you gonna do when someone’s trying to kill you and your gun jams because you forgot a part?”

She stared at the pieces in front of her, blinking fast. “You don’t have to be this cruel,” she muttered.

I barked a dry laugh. “Yeah? You want things to be how they were before? Maybe if you figure out how to get my brotherout of the hole in the ground, we can work on that.” Her head snapped up, and I saw it—pain. Guilt. A flash of something twisted in my chest before I shoved it down again. “You think if you train hard enough, learn enough, suck up to the right people, you’ll finally belong?” I sneered. “That’s not how this works. This isn’t Girl Scouts. This is blood. This is fire. And if you don’t get it perfect, someonedies.” I stepped closer, crowding into her space just enough to make her look up at me. “So get itright,” I said. “Or get the fuckout.”

She said nothing. Just turned back to the weapon and picked up the pin with shaking fingers. Put it in place. But that didn’t mean I stopped watching her hands like they might suddenly turn into claws. She finished the reassembly, slower this time. Careful. Like she knew if she slipped again, I’d pounce.

And I would.

Because if she was going to show me who she really was, it’d happen here. Under pressure. In the grind. And if she didn’t? Then I’d keep turning the screws until she cracked. Because sooner or later, everyone does.

Chapter Twenty Nine

Victoria

By the time we pulled into the driveway, my arms were trembling, and my head felt stuffed with cotton. I was so tired—the kind of tiredness that had weight, like it was dragging my bones down inch by inch. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this wrecked.

Joey slammed the car door like punctuation and stalked up the porch steps without waiting for me. He didn’t speak. Not when we got out. Not when we stepped into the house that still smelled like breakfast and wood polish and something that was starting to feel like grief soaked into the wallpaper.

But the moment the door shut behind us, he changed. He straightened and rolled his shoulders back. When Dawn stepped out from the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel, he even managed a small, convincing smile.

“Hey, Mom.”

“You’re back early.” Her brows lifted, eyes flicking between us. “How was it?”

“Good,” Joey said easily. “She’s got solid potential.” I stared at the floor. My fingers curled into the hem of Craig’s jacket, like maybe if I held on tight enough, I could shrink into the background. Invisible.

“Glad to hear it,” Dawn said, but her voice gentled when she looked at me. “You alright, sweetheart?”

“She’s just worn out,” Joey answered before I could. “It was a lot. I pushed her.”

No shit.

“I’m gonna shower and then I have to head back out,” he added, already heading toward the stairs. “Dinner smells good, save me a plate?” And just like that, he was gone. The silence he left behind was too big.

Dawn tilted her head slightly like she was reading between the lines. She always did that, looked at people the way a gardener looked at leaves. Not for what they were but for what they were supposed to be.

“You’re shaking,” she said quietly.

“I’m fine.” My voice was thin. Brittle. I blinked hard, trying to keep the tears where they belonged, buried deep, hidden behind sore shoulders and a jaw that wouldn’t unclench.

“Take a walk with me.” The words landed softly. Familiar. Like a lullaby she didn’t even have to sing anymore. I nodded once and followed her out the back door.

The greenhouse door creaked open with the same softness Dawn always carried, like even the wind wouldn’t dare disturb this place. The warm, green-sweet air wrapped around me like a memory I hadn’t earned. Alive in a way that made something in my chest twist. Everything here was growing. Breathing.Healing.It smelled like earth, like water and memory. Like Rich.

I didn’t belong here.

Dawn moved through the space like she was part of it. Brushed her fingers across leaves, She checked the soil with the back of her hand. It gave the illusion of giving her plants attention, but I knew better. She was watching me.

I stood in the doorway long enough to feel the ache creeping up my legs, arms trembling from fatigue and tension. I’d spent the day bracing—against recoil, against words, against the threat of something worse. My chest was tight like I’d been holding in a scream since the range and forgot how to stop.

“You’re not fine,” she said after a long moment. Quiet. Not accusing, just... certain. “You’ve got that look. Like you’re trying not to bleed on the carpet.”

I huffed a laugh that didn’t sound like one. “I’m just tired.”

She turned to face me, soft and unwavering. “Then rest. But if there’s more, you don’t have to carry it alone.”