Never weak.
Martha could probably emotionally dismember a man before breakfast and invoice him afterward.
But there, watching my sister wrapped in her mate and children while the pack celebrated the pup growing inside her, Martha looked struck open. Her armor had not vanished. It never did completely. But there was a crack through it, bright and wet and honest.
I leaned down before thinking too much could ruin it.
Slowly enough for her to pull away.
She did not.
I kissed the tear from her cheek.
Salt touched my lips.
Her breath caught.
Just a small, startled inhale, like she had not expected tenderness there. Like she had expected me to see the tear and make some joke or say something pretty and dangerous, instead of simply removing it because it had no right to sit on her skin wh
