Page 48 of At First Spark
I set the pry bar down harder than necessary.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“No,” he agrees. “But I get to point out when you’re about to push past the point where you stop being useful to yourself.”
I stare at him.
“I’m not—”
“You haven’t eaten since breakfast,” he continues, cutting me off without raising his voice. “You’ve been moving nonstop for hours. And you’re about two minutes away from making a mistake that costs you more time than stopping now would.”
I hate that he’s right. I hate that I know he’s right before he even finishes saying it. I hate that I want to argue anyway.
Instead, I reach for my water bottle and take a long drink. Then another. He watches me like he’s waiting to see if I’ll fight him again.
I don’t. This time.
“Five minutes,” I say.
“Ten.”
“Five.”
“Eight.”
I narrow my eyes. Yet he doesn’t back down.
“Fine,” I mutter. “Eight.”
His mouth shifts. Not quite a smile, but close enough that I notice.
We end up sitting on the back steps. The same place as yesterday. The same view. The same stretch of damaged ground that looks less chaotic now that it’s been cleared and more deliberate now that I know what I’m dealing with.
Rook settles between us, his body angled toward me but his head turned toward Holt, watching him with a level of curiosity that didn’t exist yesterday.
I rest my forearms on my knees, letting my hands hang loose, my fingers still carrying the faint vibration of work.
“I miss coming with my dad on jobs like this,” I say after a minute. “I’d sit on whatever part of the floor was least likely to collapse and sketch layouts while he worked,” I continue. “He’d ask my opinion like it mattered. Like I wasn’t twelve and guessing half the time.”
“It did matter.”
I glance at him.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” he says simply. “Because you’re still doing it.”
I look back out over the yard.
“I thought this would feel different,” I admit.
“How?”
“Like I’d… prove something.”
“To who?”
“Myself,” I say finally.
