New friends

New friends
My hand groped the rough mattress beside me, half-expecting to feel the reassuring presence of Mr. Tracy’s jacket he had left over me last night. But there was nothing. Just the thin blanket twisted around my legs and the faint smell of dust that clung to the air in this room.

I sat up slowly, blinking against the dim morning light that sneaked in through the crack of the old wooden shutters. The room was empty.

Empty.

My throat tightened. A sharp ache dug deep into me before I could fight it. The thought came quick and cruel. He left. He finally realized I am nothing but trouble. A danger he doesn’t need.

My heart drummed hard as I tried to swallow it down. Maybe he slipped out to get water, maybe he had to check something outside. But the longer I stared at that closed door, the more the panic curled itself around my chest. I pulled my knees up and pressed my forehead against them. The tears rose too easily, hot and stubborn, sliding down before I could stop them.

Maybe I deserve it, I thought. Who in their right mind would stick around me after everything I’ve dragged into their life?

I wiped my cheeks quickly with the back of my hand when I heard the sound. The click of the latch. My whole body stiffened. Instinct made me reach under the pillow for the small gun Mr. Tracy had given me. My palms were damp, fingers shaky but ready.

The door swung open.

And there he was. Mr. Tracy filled the doorway with that same calm, steady face I had seen last night. For the first time that morning, I could breathe. Relief crashed into me so hard it almost made me dizzy. But before I could lower the gun, I caught it—the shuffle of more footsteps behind him.

I froze again, my grip tightening on the weapon.

“Easy, Ree,” Mr. Tracy said softly, lifting one hand in that careful way you use with frightened animals. His voice was warm, friendly, but I didn’t miss the subtle warning in his eyes: don’t shoot.

Then she stepped into the room.

A woman, younger than him by several years. Her skin glowed against the dull light, her dark hair was braided neatly down her back. She had the kind of beauty that felt both graceful and strong, and the second her eyes landed on me, I saw no fear, only pure happiness.

Behind her was a little girl—barely five years old—her small fingers wrapped tight around her mother’s skirt. The moment I looked at her, my chest gave a sudden, aching squeeze.

She was his exact image.

The same sharp jaw softened by childhood, the same striking eyes that seemed to hold more wisdom than they should. When she blinked at me shyly, I knew. This was his daughter.

Mr. Tracy’s lips curved in a smile. “Ree, I want you to meet my family.” He stepped aside so they could come forward. “This is my wife, Jasmine.” His hand brushed lightly against hers, a gesture so casual yet filled with tenderness it nearly undid me. “And this little one,” he crouched and gently coaxed the girl forward, “is Sapphire. We call her Saffy.”

The girl’s lips parted, and in the tiniest voice she said, “Hi.”

I lowered the gun, ashamed of how quickly I had doubted, how easily I had been ready to fire. My throat felt too tight to speak at first. Somehow, I managed, “Hi, Saffy.”

She gave a small smile, and in that smile was a piece of Mr. Tracy’s light. For a reason I couldn’t explain, it made my own lips tremble.

"Welcome to Tipet, Ree. I'm so glad to meet to you." Jasmine hugged me.

For the first time in days, I felt safe.

It startled me, that feeling. Safety had become such a foreign thing that I hardly knew what to do with it. Yet standing in this small, shabby room with his family, I felt it—the fragile comfort of belonging, even if only borrowed.

After a while, he offered to escort his wife and daughter back to their home in Tipet. I nodded, watching Jasmine take Saffy’s hand and lead her gently toward the door. But before he followed, I caught his sleeve.

“Mr. Tracy,” I whispered, pulling him aside. My words stumbled out before I could polish them. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know you had a family here.” I swallowed the guilt rising thick in my throat. “I feel… I feel awful, dragging you into this. They don’t deserve danger just because of me. You don’t.”

His eyes sharpened, steady and fierce all at once. “Listen to me, Ree.” His voice dropped low, almost a growl beneath its calmness. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Listen, I’ve worked with the Army, and in Fenceville I’ve stood guard as part of the vigilante. I know what it means to defend the people you care about, your case won't be any different.”

I stared up at him, trembling under the weight of his certainty.

“They tried to hurt you,” he went on, a flash of steel in his gaze. “Whoever they are, whatever they think they’re doing—they will pay. I’ll see to it.”

The fierceness in him lit something inside me. A tiny flame of hope I hadn’t felt in so long. But before I could thank him, he added something else.

“And Ree,” he said,“I think I might know who they are.”