Page 142 of Into the Dark, We Go

He gave a slow nod.

"How powerful?"

His voice dropped.

"Very."

Goosebumps rose on my arms despite the heat. The coven actually had some serious clients. Getting confirmation of that was too spooky for my liking.

Mitch gave me a serious look. "Let’s keep June out of this. She’s been through enough."

"Sure."

He glanced around the coffee shop, where people were typing away on their laptops or chatting in small groups. Just as Nick had once said, lots of faces, but no one really cares about you. To me, that anonymity was comforting. I was a drop of water in the vast ocean.

"It’s tough, letting her go. And so far away," Mitch admitted suddenly.

"She’ll still be your little sister. And trust me, she’ll feel closer to you now than ever before."

Mitch looked away for a moment, clearly struggling to contain his emotions. He took a deep breath before continuing. "You know, I’ve always known I got my temper from my dad. Always figured there’d come a day when I’d turn out just like him. That’s why I had to get out of the military. Got into a scrap. I was scared to death back in Black Water that I’d mess everything up, that she’d get hurt on account of me."

I reached out and placed a reassuring hand on his arm. "You are not your father, Mitch. And you didn’t ruin anything. You saved us all."

Mitch’s gaze faltered. "I don’t know about that."

I squeezed his arm gently. "I’ve lived with you for several weeks, Mitch. You’re a good person. An amazing big brother and friend. And I would never be scared of you, because I know you. You were always there when we needed you."

Mitch nodded again, his eyes still cast downward. He squeezed his mug of untouched coffee. "Thanks," he said, "You’re a good kid, Foster."

I smiled inwardly at him calling me kid, even though he was only a couple of years older than me, and hoped he knew I meant every word I’d said.

"You like it here?" Mitchell asked.

I beamed in agreement. "I do."

Here, I was in my element. Finishing my degree, working, and living in the city I had grown to adore made me feel in control of my life. The ridiculous rent was a relatively small price to pay for the sense of self I had found.

The Lucas ordeal was finally behind me, and although memories of Nick still lingered, they no longer felt like an open wound. I was moving on, healing like the scar on my back.

Nick had been right about one thing: we needed to move toward a purpose, not just run away from things. Sometimes, that meant making hard choices.

And so far, I’ve been happy with the ones I’ve made.