My mother flung open the door to her workshop, the scent of metal and ozone rushing out to greet me. Every surface gleamed with half-finished gadgets and tools scattered in organized chaos. The walls were lined with weapons, prototypes, and contraptions I couldn't even begin to name, all labeled in her precise handwriting.

"Take whatever you need," she said, stepping aside and motioning me in. Her eyes barely lingered on me before she returned to the intricate mechanism she was tinkering with, her hands moving with practiced precision.

I hurried to the weapon rack, my gaze landing on a sleek, polished crossbow that practically hummed with energy. My fingers wrapped around it, lifting it from its stand, when her voice snapped through the air.

"Except for that."

I froze, turning to find her standing there with her hand outstretched, her expression unreadable but firm.

"Seriously?" I asked, holding the crossbow tighter.

"Seriously," she replied, gesturing again.

Reluctantly, I handed it over, watching as she inspected it like a hawk. She set it on the workbench beside her and then turned her sharp, calculating gaze to me. "You're not ready for something like that yet. It's not just a weapon; it's a machine that demands precision."

I groaned, pulling the dagger from my belt. "Fine. This'll have to do, then."

She gave me a glance, half-amused. "You're resourceful. You'll manage."

"I wouldn't have to manage if someone believed in me," I muttered, my eyes darting to a blueprint pinned to the wall. It depicted a device that looked like it could level a city—or save it.

She didn't look up from the small contraption she was assembling, but her voice carried the weight of someone who had already solved a thousand problems today. "Libby, your brother may be older, but that doesn't mean he's smarter—or stronger. Don't let his insecurities distract you."

I scoffed, pacing the room. "It's not just his insecurities, Mom. He thinks I'm going to screw this up. He's always thought that!" I stopped in front of a table piled high with small gears and tools. "He doesn't get it. He doesn't get me. He thinks I'm just a kid."

"That's the difference between being brilliant and being reckless," she said, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "You could be just as good if you focused your energy."

"I focus!" I protested, crossing my arms.

"On proving people wrong instead of proving yourself right," she shot back, her eyes finally meeting mine. "Your brother's doubts don't matter, Libby. What matters is what you can do—and I know what that is. It's time you did too."

I fell silent, her words hitting harder than I expected. My eyes darted back to the crossbow on the table. "You really think I'm ready for this? For all of it?"

She stepped closer, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I think you're more ready than anyone else realizes," she said softly. "You've got my brilliance and your father's fire. That's a dangerous combination—and exactly what you need."

A smile tugged at my lips as I grabbed a sleek dagger from the table, tucking it into my belt. "Thanks, Mom," I said, turning to leave.

"Don't thank me yet," she called after me, her voice edged with amusement. "Come back alive."

I glanced over my shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "I will. And when I do, I'll make it look easy."

Her laughter followed me out, bright and sharp, the sound of someone who knew exactly how capable I was—even if I didn't yet.