Testing Hope's combined healing technique on a real dimensional fracture instead of artificial ones felt like watching my daughter stand at the edge of a cliff and trusting she could fly, which was—I mean she could literally manipulate spacetime so flying wasn't that far off but the metaphor worked for my anxiety levels.
"You don't have to do this." I told her for the fifteenth time while we stood at the dimensional scar. "If you're not ready—"
"Mama." Hope looked up at me with eyes that cycled through all four colors patiently. "I ready. I practiced. I know what to do. You have to stop being scared and let me try."
You have to stop being scared and let me try. Right. Our two-year-old was telling me to manage my anxiety so she could prevent dimensional catastrophe.
Parenting was absolutely wild.
"Okay." I stepped back but kept my hand on her shoulder. "One fracture. Just one. We see if it works."
