At Risk

She leaned in and purred, “If you have nothing else to offer me, offer me your smile.”

The Wordsmith was pressed flat up against a bookcase, arms up to fend her off.

Garrow grabbed her by the collar and hauled her backwards. “Away from the boy, little lady. No touching The Wordsmith.”

“I don’t want to smile for you,” the kid added, which caused the woman to leer.

The woman squirmed in Garrow’s grip like an angry kitten. “I wasn’t gonna hurt him!”

Garrow reached into his pack and fished around for one of the grandpa shirts the Thrones had given him. He tossed it at the kid, who caught it with shaking hands and buttoned it up wrong. His coordination always went out the window when he was scared.

“You would’ve hurt him without knowing it,” Garrow said. “What are you doing in the Gregori bunker anyway, Messenger? Get lost.” He shoved her away. She sniffed at him, turned her nose up, and sashayed out of the bunker.

As soon as she was gone, Garrow turned back to The Wordsmith, who was focused on fixing his shirt. “You all right, kid?”

He nodded. “Yeah, she - she didn’t know how to trigger me.”

“She might’ve by accident. Look, when Austin’s not in the bunker, wear more clothes, all right? I know she’s got seniority on me, but we can’t afford to --” Garrow broke off, rephrased -- “you shouldn’t have to be at risk like that all the time. Now come on - it’s time for your chopstick lessons.”

“Why? Just because a billion people in one isolated nation can feed themselves that way --”

“Because I want some real orange chicken and sushi and we won’t get it in a bunker, and hell if I’m gonna let you embarrass me at my favorite restaurant. Move, kid!”

The Wordsmith ducked his head and nodded, but Garrow could see he was smiling.