You had always been too weak.

Not physically, not when you were younger, but it didn’t matter how much you tried to keep up. Malnourishment had taken its toll before Vander found you, leaving you fragile and sickly. Your bones ached constantly, your muscles too weak to do much. You were often the last to catch up when the others ran off for one of their escapades.

Vander saw that. He knew. He never pushed you too hard, always looking out for you like he did for the others, but you could see the concern in his eyes every time you struggled to keep pace.

You weren’t like them.

Powder would dart around, practically glowing with energy, always pulling pranks and coming up with schemes. Vi, Mylo, and Claggor always had your back, but they didn’t know what it was like to feel like you couldn’t keep up.

“Hey, slow down,” Vi would say, turning back to grab your hand when she noticed you lagging behind. “You’re doing good.” But there was a quiet sadness in her voice that she didn’t hide well.

“Vander doesn’t want us to push you too hard,” Claggor would add, his voice softer than usual. He was the oldest, always the one who tried to keep the peace.

And yet, you never felt like you truly belonged. The others were so full of life, so whole. But you were still broken, still trying to heal from a past too painful to talk about.

The warmth of Vander’s care was constant, but you couldn’t help feeling like a burden. You felt it in the way he’d hand you a bowl of soup with a small, worried smile. You felt it in the way his gaze lingered when he noticed you getting too thin, too frail.

You never told him how much it hurt to feel that way—to feel weak when they were all so strong. To be the one who couldn’t help in fights, who couldn’t keep up with the others.

But you tried. Every day, you tried to be better. For them. For Vander.