Page 70 of The Devil May Care

“You’re trying. That’s enough.”

He says it like it’s fact. Like trying is rare. Maybe here it is. Maybe not just here.

“I’ll keep training you,” he continues. “You still need to defend yourself. That kind of skill can’t be taught by text.”

“Clearly,” I mutter, thinking of all the bruises on my ribs.

“But,” he adds, “we can rotate formats. More discussion. More exposure to customs. Language. Local politics.”

I stare. “Did you just design me a syllabus?”

“Would you prefer I hadn’t?”

“No, it’s… incredible.”

I lean back and fold my legs underneath me.

“So, tell me something else about Crimson,” I say. “Something not in the books.”

He’s quiet for a beat, then grins. “Children in the Ember Quarter are trained to walk barefoot on hot stone. Not because they must—but so that if the time comes, their skin remembers how.”

“The hell?”

“It’s not as harsh as it sounds. It’s ceremonial. A way of marking resilience. Memory.”

“We just had dodgeball.”

“Dodge… ball?”

I start laughing. Really laughing. It bubbles out of me so fast I can’t stop it. Caz watches me like I’ve grown a second head, which just makes it worse.

“Oh my God,” I wheeze, “please tell me there’s an alternate Crimson where kids are just pegging each other with fireballs for fun.”

“There are flame tag competitions during the mid-turn festivals.”

I blink. “…That’s basically dodgeball.”

“I’ll include it in your syllabus.”

The warmth between us hums a little louder. He’s not smiling, but I swear his eyes soften.

“Your turn,” he says. “Tell me something.”

I shrug. “I always wanted to be a vet, I like animals better than most people, but the passion has long been burned out of me and I’m not sure what to do about it.”

“You regret your work?” He asks so innocently, as if I didn’t have to explain to him at one point that a vet was a healer for animals.

“Not really. I’m student loan broke. That’s what we say when every paycheck from now and in perpetuity is going to go to the federalgovernment. No girls night out, no vacation, no anything. Not until those hit zero.”

“Loans,” he echoes, like the word tastes foreign.

“Debt,” I clarify. “In exchange for education. But it follows you forever.”

His jaw tightens. “That’s barbaric. You’re punished for learning?”

“Welcome to Earth.”

He doesn’t comment on that.