SLOANE
The Montana mountains glow amber in late sunlight, snow peaks glittering like crown jewels. From my spot by The Forge's meadow, I watch shadows cross the wildflowers.
A year ago, this was just another temporary refuge.
Now? It feels like coming up for air after being underwater too long.
Home.
The word still catches in my throat sometimes, foreign but welcome. Like learning a new language by immersion rather than textbooks.
Pine and wood smoke drift from the training grounds as wind stirs my longer hair.
I close my eyes, memories washing over me.
That first night.
Racing through trees, frozen and terrified, clutching only a bag. Secrets cut like glass against my ribs. I couldn't trust anyone—not even the stranger who saved me.
God, how wrong I was.
I touch the scar on my thigh absently—the one from that sniper's bullet all those months ago. It's smooth now, silver-white against my skin.
A reminder of what I survived. What we all survived.
The sound of laughter draws my attention back to The Forge compound.
Through the late afternoon haze, I can make out figures moving on the training grounds—Caleb leading his weekly self-defense class for local teens.
"Come on, Katie! You're tiny but mighty. Show Derek what those elbows can do!"
My boots crunch on gravel as I make my way toward the main compound. The late sun catches on the massive forged-iron sign over the gate:
THE FORGE.Come broken. Leave forged.
I believed that was just marketing when I first saw it.
Now I know better.
Caleb spots me first, flashing that trademark dimpled grin as I approach the training area. "Look who decided to grace us with her presence! Hey Sloane, want to show these kids how it's done?"
I lean against the fence, watching a gangly teenage boy attempt to break free from a hold. "And steal your thunder? Wouldn't dream of it."
"Please," he scoffs. "Like you could. I'm basically a legend around here."
His laugh rings out warm and light—but I catch the shadows lurking underneath. Even after a year of friendship, he hides behind his jokes. I missed it in the beginning... but now I spot the cracks in his armor.
Across the yard, Eli—seems like I call him Eli now—tends to his growing collection of medicinal herbs and plants. What started as a small garden patch has evolved into an impressive array of natural remedies.
He catches my eye and offers a small wave, dirt smudged across his forearm. The sleeve of his t-shirt rides up, revealing the edge of his tattoos—art that tells stories I'm still learning to read.
"The lavender's coming in strong," he calls out. "Should have enough for those headache sachets you like soon."
I smile, touched that he remembers. "You're too good to us, Eli."
He shrugs, but I catch the pleased look in his eyes. "Someone's got to keep you all functioning."
Movement on the upper ridge catches my attention. Knox, leading a group of new recruits through what looks like a perimeter check. His posture is rigid, professional, but there's less tension in his shoulders these days. Less wariness in the way he carries himself.
