she curses under her breath. the arrow strikes more than a few inches under where she'd aimed. she taps her fingers against the grip and then startles when alex peels away from the wall.

"you told me i'd need to go elsewhere," she says, after a moment, and then turns to reach for another arrow. this one has been dipped in yellow paint, its fletching a matching stark yellow with green striations. she falls back into form, shifts from target to training dummy. 

when it hits its chest, electricity spurts out from it in a wide arc, a near-perfect replica of his patented paralysis arrows. 

"so i went elsewhere."

ALEXANDER STONE

☉

whatever mirth she'd managed to build in her isolation is lost with each step he takes towards her. there is an ache in her heart, yes, but around it are layers of hurt - both stale and raw. he salts the wounds with a judgmental eye and she picks up another one.

"they're better than decent," she says. "they're made out of paradox remains."

she scrunches her nose. "the metal ones, that is."

and, to protect ana fell's reputation, she reaches for another. she steadies her breath. draws, muscles straining. her breath whistles past her teeth and the arrowhead sinks with a heavy chnk into the target, right at its center.

"does it matter who?"

ALEXANDER STONE

☉

"we make due," she says and when he reaches for one, she hesitates, then nods. 

what he'll find is a marvel of ingenuity. what ana doesn't have in resources, she makes up for with her brilliance. each arrow is meticulously crafted, seamless, and faintly warm, as though latent energy still exists within it. 

her bow dips. with a flick of her wrist, it folds back in on itself. steel meets the scabbard at her hip. the arrows are ana's, but the sword-bow is still his. one day, maybe, she'll need to replace it, but she cares for it almost as particularly as she cares for her dragons. 

"you looked happy," she says, "at the holiday party."

ALEXANDER STONE

☉

"she's brilliant," she says with a shrug of her shoulders; as nonchalant as she tries to be, though, there is a pride in her shoulders. there is a smile hidden between the lines. 

her hand goes to the pommel, fingers suddenly needing something to do when he mentions Eva Morales. her thoughts immediately turn to the cheek kiss, that bare moment of intimacy - a reminder of a past the professor doesn't and will never remember. 

"yes," she says and her other hand betrays her, fingers slipping on the offered arrow. it plinks to the ground and, embarrassed, she bends to pick it up. 

"our schedules never sync." by design. "it was nice to catch up."

a pause and then, more guardedly, "alex, why? why the pleasantries now?"

ALEXANDER STONE

☉

she ignores the observation, which makes her lack of a reply all the more insightful. it's nothing, she says softly, to herself. it doesn't have anything to do with the fact that she is so lonely and eva is a dangerous comfort. a home she doesn't belong to. 

her brows furrow.

"no, of course not. i - you were my friend. i trusted you, alex, and i made the only choice i could, and you turned your back on me and you walked away."

and in their time apart, she has found a makeshift family. friends to lean on. it's why she can admit, in three little words, something she couldn't have before, because to do so would have been admitting weakness, wounding pride -

"and that hurt."

ALEXANDER STONE

☉

there are no callouses over the hurt. the wounds are still raw and his apology peels back the scabs. she bleeds in front of him, face betraying her anguish and her anger. she was never forthcoming about what happened, but her hurt was her hurt. 

and her decision was her first step towards healing. 

"you don't understand," she says, voice small but furious. and bitterly, "apologies don't change the fact that we're still on opposing sides."

ALEXANDER STONE

☉