Daia

“If anyone wants me dead, they’re going to have to be very determined to see it that way,” she says, a wry smile coming across her face as she grips his hand in return.

It’s a bit reassuring that this boy wants to protect her, but there’s very little he would be able to do. And it’s not his place. She’s the one who’s supposed to protect the others, see them to safety. It had been that way since she was a teenager.

But his next thought catches her despite her trying to block him out, and it makes her laugh.

She lets go of his hand and reaches to readjust the ice pack on his ankle.

“It depends on how strong they are and how many enemies they’ve made,” she murmurs. “Some live a very long time. Others die much too soon.”