The Stark Legacy

Team

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX—November 2039

The familiar straw target stared back at her with its pocked face. Nate's scoff at her weak, low arm led to static shock between her elbow, the dry air, and his callus fingers.

Sam felt the sharp drag of feathers across her fingers.

She missed, and her arrow whizzed past the tree to stick in the grass.

"You really aren't getting better, are you?" her pseudo-brother griped.

"Guys, dinner," Clint called from the porch. "Wash up."

Nate was already halfway to the house. She picked up six arrows by herself.

A hand touched Sam's elbow again, but she swiped it away, knocking the offered cereal out of Tony's hand.

The pieces scattered all over Mr. Brum's head and beside his feet.

"Jeez, sorry," Sam said to the old tailor crouched to hem the white button-down being fit for her. She stood atop the carpeted pedestal as she did most days now.

Tony had taken up the project of flame-retardant clothing for her, a task necessary before, but it became imperative after Samantha scorched half of her room in a fight with Missy.

"What was it this time?"

"Nothing. You just scared me." He always asked, but she never told him.

"You know what's funny—" Tony popped a few morsels into his mouth "—I still don't believe you." He popped a few more, adding, "might be on to something with this."

He assumed the blowout had something to do with moving, but Sam understood what Missy had done the instant she heard of Lucas's '100% failure.' That was statistically impossible—unless done on purpose.

Sam tried to think of something less infuriating, more relaxing.

Laura always seemed so calm while doing her morning yoga. She would mumble her to-do list or reminders between breaths.

Her long, dark ponytail dragged across her shoulders before swinging down to dust the floor. She huffed tucking limbs beneath her and grunted to kick her leg high to the ceiling.

"Too similar to last year," Laura said, "Lila will want something different. Maybe Clint could carve a desk for that spare..."

Tony sighed, looking at himself in one of the three mirrors. Sam thought his dark beard looked much coarser than Laura's soft locks.

She tried to count the flecks of silver.

Sam exhaled. "Seventy-four point five," she whispered.

"What was that?" Tony turned.

Sam shrugged.

"Ms. Sass," Brum's shaky old voice rang, "up straight, please. No slouching."

Sam shot a dirty look to the corner mirror.

Tony smirked. "Paid him extra to start calling you that." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Oh, don't be mad. I made you a present."

"Is it as tight as this?" Sam grabbed to pull down the fitted shirt and stabbed her finger with a pin.

The prick healed before she could even look at her finger, but Brum's tsk hung in the air.

Yes, Sam thought, I still have no callus. Her 'older brother' would be pleased in his righteous criticism.

Tony walked over to the conference table shoved to one side of the room, producing an enormous, yellow hoodie.

He returned to her side, pride beaming from ear to ear.