Her colors colder.
She used mountain silhouettes.
Broken road lines.
Small stars.
Sometimes she hid the jawbone emblem.
Sometimes she did not include it at all.
The first time Gregory saw a finished tank without Luther’s black scale, he noticed.
Said nothing.
That was how he knew she was healing.
School remained less romantic.
Algebra did not care about trauma narratives.
Neither did chemistry.
Sky complained constantly.
Gregory learned parenting at sixty-four.
Badly.
His first attempt at helping with math ended with both of them frustrated and a calculator thrown onto the couch.
Lucy instituted rules.
“No homework assistance after Gregory has been awake more than fourteen hours.”
Gregory objected.
Lucy ignored him.
Terry’s daughter Madison began tutoring Sky twice a week.
Madison was sixteen and unimpressed by the Iron Jaws.
She also had a gift for explaining equations.
Sky liked her immediately.
The two became friends.
That friendship did something adults could not.
Sky stopped being the girl everybody was rescuing.
Around Madison, she was simply fourteen.
They complained about teachers.
Music.
Shoes.
School lunches.
Boys.
Gregory discovered the boy topic by accident and briefly considered moving to another state.
Lucy told him:
“You chose guardianship.”
“I chose paperwork.”
“You chose adolescence.”
“No one explained the package.”
Sky eventually returned to public school full-time.
The first week was difficult.
Rumors spread.
Runaway.
Biker kid.
Group-home girl.
One student called her “garage orphan.”
Sky punched nobody.
Gregory considered that tremendous personal growth.
Instead, she went to the art teacher.
Asked whether the school needed a backdrop for the spring play.
Three months later, half the students who had whispered about her were helping paint scenery under her direction.
Competence changed social gravity.
Not instantly.
Enough.
Michael Ventry disappeared from her daily life after the no-contact order.
He did not become a dramatic final villain.
He did something more ordinary.
He moved on badly.
There were occasional legal filings.
Complaints through counsel.
Claims Gregory was unsuitable.
Each went through proper process.
Each failed to produce evidence requiring removal.
Over time, even Michael seemed to understand that Luther’s sister was not a battlefield where an old grudge could be won.
Two years later, through his attorney, he agreed to let the no-contact order expire without further litigation in exchange for mutual non-contact terms.
Sky was sixteen then.
Martha asked how she felt.
“Nothing.”
“That’s healthy.”
“Really?”
“Sometimes indifference is expensive peace.”
Sky smiled.
Gregory aged.
That frightened her more than she admitted.
At sixty-six, he had a cardiac scare that turned out not to be a heart attack but did require medication and diet changes he resented.
The first night after he returned from the hospital, Sky sat on the porch beside him.
“You’re not dying.”
“Everybody’s dying.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s technically true.”
She looked at him.
“Luther died.”
Gregory’s humor disappeared.
“I know.”
“You don’t get to make jokes about leaving.”
Gregory stared across the yard.
“I’ll try.”
“That’s not enough.”
“It’s what I’ve got.”
Sky’s eyes filled.
He continued.
“Listen.”
She looked over.
“Part of being your guardian is making sure you’re not dependent on me being immortal.”
She hated the sentence.
He said it anyway.
“Lucy is in the plan.”
“Terry too.”
“Martha knows everything.”
“Your savings account is protected.”
“School paperwork is organized.”
“Nothing happens to you because one old man’s heart gets dramatic.”
Sky wiped her face.
“You planned all that?”
“Yes.”
“When?”