Page 45 of Romancing in Rot

He nods like that explains everything, even though it clearly explains nothing, and reaches for his notebook. A few quick strokes later, he turns it toward Poppy. You’ll need to build arm strength. Start slow.

“Thank you,” she says, softer now. Then she launches forward and wraps both arms around his neck.

My hand rises, then tightens around the half-mended sweater.

Leon’s hand lifts, settling against her back, broad palm covering most of her sweater, like she might break.

Poppy pulls back grinning, oblivious to the way my heart is trying to live in this moment.

“I’m going to be so good at this,” she declares.

I have no doubt. Not because the bow magically makes her safer. It doesn’t. But because every time she misses, Leon will show her how to try again without making the miss mean something ugly.

Poppy turns to me, deadly serious. “Also, I’m going to need a braid.”

I laugh. “Of course you will.”

Leon stands and jerks his head toward the trees.

Poppy nods hard enough that a piece of hair falls across her face. “Yes! Let’s go!”

“I’m coming too,” I say, a little too fast.

Poppy doesn’t notice.

Leon does.

He doesn’t look offended. Just nods like he expected it.

We follow him into the woods. The air changes the second we step off the road, cooler and quieter. The firelight fades behind us, and the trees close in with bare branches scratching against a gray October sky. Damp leaves soften the ground beneath our boots. Somewhere nearby, water drips steadily from branch to branch.

Every sound feels sharper out here.

Poppy’s excited breathing.

The creak of leather as Leon shifts the quiver over his shoulder.

My own pulse, annoyingly loud.

We reach a small clearing, and Leon marks an X into the bark of a tree with his hatchet. Then he steps back and motions Poppy over.

Before he touches her, he pauses.

Looks at her.

Lifts his hands slightly.

Asking.

Poppy nods, impatient and thrilled.

Only then does he adjust her stance.

A light tap to her elbow. Two fingers at her shoulder. A gentle nudge to widen her feet. Never sharp. Never making her feel silly for not already knowing.

Still, I hover.

I can’t help it.