Ana makes a noise that’s too polite to really be called a scoff, but I know in my heart that’s what it is. “You’re a terrible liar, Kiki.”

I say nothing more as I pull the boot all the way on. My eyes fall to the patterned rug at my feet. Ana is so silent on her feet, I see the tips of her own boots land in front of me before I even realize she’s approached. Her hand finds its way to my chin, tilting my head up.

I look up at her. She is a hair shorter than me, but from this angle, she looks like a goddess, rising tall and strong above a mere mortal penitent. Auburn waves fall about her face softly. It always feels a little bit like a loss when she ties her hair back. It is difficult to argue with the utility of it. I don’t like it when my hair falls in front of my face either but …

Stop it.

The thought is so reflexive, I obey without even pausing to consider what it means.

I don’t have to stop.

There is nothing stopping me from admiring the way her hair falls when it’s loose. It’s a more comfortable thought than any I’ve had since—

I would rather think of this than anything else.

Ana gazes down at me, her fingers warm against my chin. Her eyes go soft when mine finally find hers.

“I’m with you,” says Ana. “Every step of the way.”

“I know.” And that is not a lie.

Her fingers trail from my chin to my cheek as she holds my gaze with hers. I know her so well, but in this moment, I cannot read what I see in her eyes. They are guarded in a way I’m not used to seeing. That Ana can build a wall inside her is not news to me. But that she would build one now, in this particular moment is troubling in a way I’m not sure I can articulate.

“What is it?” I ask.

She merely shakes her head.

I lean into her touch, her palm moving so that my cheek is cupped in her hand. Then, I stand. She begins to move back, but I still her with a hand on her elbow.

“Thank you,” I say.

She smiles, and for the slimmest of moments I feel whole.

We finish getting ready, donning coats and daggers and hats. The leather belt is heavy and warm in my hands, weighted down with the heft of the sheathed blade attached to it. I wrap it around my waist with practiced ease. I’ve done this so many times, I could probably do it in my sleep.

With the heavy, comfortable weight of the sword at my hip, I feel almost like myself again.