Sienna stood at the edge of the garage floor, her fingers gripping the handles of the parallel bars Dany had welded together from old steel piping. Her chin lifted—not out of confidence, but out of defiance. She had learned long ago that if you looked strong, people hesitated before telling you that you couldn’t do something.
Dany stood a few feet away, hands hovering in the air like he didn’t know where to put them. Not touching. Not interfering. Just ready.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he said quietly.
Zoe sat cross-legged on her milk crate, clutching her notebook so tightly the edges bent. Maria stood near the doorway, her hands folded, whispering something under her breath that sounded like a prayer.
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