I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be alone with Cady yet. She knelt and laid her hand gently against the freshly turned dirt of Silver’s grave. I stood, staring down at Cady, down at the place I’d buried Silver.

“She was a mess of a puppy.” Cady closed her eyes, her fingers curling downward into the dirt. “Chewed everything, cried if you left her alone at night, spent the first two years of her life convinced she was a lapdog instead of a German shepherd.”

“She saved me.” My voice was every bit as hoarse as Cady’s. “You saved me.”

“Did you ever think,” Cady said, still looking down, “even once, Kira, that maybe you saved us? Me. Jude. Silver.”

My throat stung. “You should have told me the truth.” I struggled to find the words. My lips felt clumsy forming them. “Maybe not at first, but later, when I was older…” I swallowed. “I could have handled it. If you’d been the one who told me, I could have been strong.”

Cady turned to look at me, incredulous. “You’ve always been strong, Kira.” When I didn’t reply, she stood. “Do you think Saskia’s weak? Because of her scars, because of what she’s survived?”

“No.” I thought my girl was beautiful and wild and strong, and if I could have spent five minutes alone with the person who’d left marks on her, I would have showed him what weakness was.