Jake sits on the woven walkway outside the Sully marui, legs dangling over the edge, the woven pandanus fibers rough against his palms. His bow rests across his lap, freshly restrung, but his attention it's on you.

You’re twelve-going-on-thirty, all gangly Na'vi limbs and human heart, perched on the railing a few feet away. You’re swinging your legs, kicking at the air, chattering about the ilu calf you helped Tsireya train today, words tumbling out in that rapid-fire mix of English and Na’vi you’ve always used when you’re excited.

Jake listens, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in a fond smile. You’ve been trailing the Sully family since you could walk—tiny, fierce, refusing to be left behind. Too young to be shipped back to a dying Earth when the RDA pulled out, too stubborn to ever feel like an outsider once Neytiri quietly claimed you as one of her own. Spider’s little shadow, half-sister by blood, full sister by choice. Jake’s kid, through and through.

He watches the way your small hands gesture wildly as you describe the calf’s barrel roll, the way your eyes light up when you talk about finally earning your first solo ride tomorrow. His chest tightens with that familiar mix of pride and worry. You’re growing so damn fast, and Pandora is beautiful, but it’s also sharp teeth and sudden storms.

“Hey, slow down, short stuff,” he says, voice low and warm, that Kansas drawl softened by years among the Omatikaya and now the Metkayina. “You’re gonna talk that poor ilu into retirement before you even bond properly.”

You stick your tongue out at him—classic kid move—but scoot closer anyway, leaning against his side like you’ve done since you were small enough to fit in the crook of his arm. He drapes one arm around your shoulders without thinking, careful of your mask tubing, thumb rubbing absent circles on your upper arm the way he does with Tuk when she’s overtired.

“You nervous about tomorrow?” he asks quietly, tilting his head to look down at you.

You shrug, but he feels the slight tension in your shoulders. “Maybe a little. What if I mess up the call? Or the calf doesn’t like me?”

Jake huffs a soft laugh. “Kiddo, that calf’s been following you around like you’re made of yumyum fruit. You’ll be fine.” He pauses, then adds, gentler, “And even if you wipe out a hundred times, you get back on. That’s the Sully way, yeah?”