“You’re a smart boy.”

“Thank you.” Rowan rarely knew how to take the compliments Don gave him. He struggled to understand Durant most of the time also. The oversized poisonous porcupine said little, and when Rowan was around he said even less. Rowan tended to avoid Don’s peluda partner, as he seemed to bristle whenever the young man drew near.

Rowan was starting to look older. He was certainly taller than he had been when he had arrived.

Nose buried in a book, Rowan had learned to read a lot faster than he used to. He used to be such a slow reader. Now he devoured everything Don handed him. As a Loose String, he was informed he would have to choose a branch to work under once he became a Knot. It went without saying that he would remain in the Moderator’s section of the Red Cord.

Don was hard pressed to part with his former partner’s child and Rowan didn’t question it.

The primary reason outside of recognizing Don’s emotional attachment (oddly concealed as it was but still very much present, even someone as young as Rowan could see it) was Rowan acknowledging his own weaknesses. Those weaknesses? He wasn’t strong. Yes, he was physically fit. He was eating healthy. He was doing everything he needed to maintain top physical shape. But he wasn’t strong. He was taller and lankier than most twelve-year-olds, and he was most definitely the youngest Loose String they had at the time. He took all the training courses and aced every test in communication and the practice of Red Cord. He was familiar with every branch, Master, goal, and purpose. He had caught himself reciting the mantra ‘many knots, one string, never breaking, ever binding’ in his sleep. He knew the names of all the Masters, the locations of their primary bases (Mexico City, Jacksonville, Rio, Moscow, Cairo, Johannesburg, etc.), the titles of those who lived there (Professor, Moderator, Conservationist, Specialist, Librarian, Doctor, etc.), their conflicts and resolutions. He knew the political movements the Red Cord strived for (equal rights for beasts and humans). All of his skill was in his head.

But ask him to fight in a violent negotiation and he’d be mowed down in an instant.

“I think it’s time you had a tutor,” Don spoke over dinner. They had begun having private meals together. Rowan preferred the privacy really. He felt awkward around the other Loose Strings, so much older than him and knowledgeable of terms he had never heard before. Some of them he actually had no interest in learning the origins of said terms. The handful of curse words Rowan said under his breath when he gave himself minor injuries such as papercuts and a stubbed toe were all he really cared to know.

“Am I behind in studies?” Rowan asked, focusing instead on the conversation his guardian had sparked with the statement.

Don’s smile was small as always. “No, your studies are flawless, my boy. But I think it’s time you learned some self-defense.” Rowan tilted his head. “It will be essential once you become a negotiator.”

Don spoke of fighting so simply over his green bean casserole, and yet it was the most terrifying aspect of the Red Cord to Rowan. On some level, Rowan sensed that relieved Don that Rowan was so against fighting. “Why won’t I learn with the other Loose Strings?” He had overheard the others talking about their training programs hosted by the Vanguard’s men and women. Rowan was less astounded by the number of beasts here as he was by the number of women in charge. He thought it was incredible, seeing them climb the ranks when on a civilian level they remained struggling. Half the reason he identified as male was because of the limited access to education and resources to women and yet that didn’t seem to matter in the Red Cord.

His thoughts were interrupted by the concerned statement, “I think it would be more beneficial for you to train one on one with someone who will be considerate of your age and limitations.”

Limitations, Rowan thought. He supposed that was true. Supposed his age and size and genetic history constituted as limitations. He set his book aside, finally reaching a section where he could stop reading and focus on his own plate. “When do I start?” he asked, poking at his casserole.

“I’ve already spoken with someone. I think he’ll work well with you.” Don’s brow wrinkled and his tone turned sour. “Uncouth as he is, he knows what he’s doing. You won’t learn from anyone better unless I send you to Grane himself.”

Rowan nodded as he began eating, pondering what Don had said. He supposed he would meet this tutor soon then.

Within the week, Rowan was being led to one of the closed off training rooms. He spotted the tutor Don had spoken of through the hard glass and before he had even entered the room, he was sizing up the alleged best of the best Don had described to him.

The raven haired man didn’t look like the weathered old veteran Rowan had imagined him to be. In fact he looked like he hadn’t even reached his twenties. Squinting up at him, Rowan began to doubt Don’s declaration that the man was brash and ‘uncouth’ as he’d put it. He looked shy, if anything.

But then Don said, “This is Rowan Sverre. Rowan, meet Aiden Cormack. He’ll be your trainer.”

And this red-eyed man named Aiden opened his mouth to say, “Promise not to break him.” There it was, the brashness Don had mentioned. Rowan looked up to see Don glaring back at Aiden for the comment before leaving the room. Rowan didn’t bother looking outside the window. He could already feel Don watching warily for a few moments before heading to his own duties. Aiden, however, did watch him go. Once Don was gone, that’s when Aiden spoke, “Well you’re a twig if I ever did see one. Man wasn’t exaggerating when he said you were a noodle.”

That triggered something in Rowan. An old defense he hadn’t felt since his first days at school. Squinting up at Aiden, he retorted, “He did exaggerate with you.” He saw a tick in the man’s brow. “I expected an old man.”

Aiden stared at him for a moment, then snorted. “So you got lip.” Aiden sighed and stretched slightly. “No wonder he paired you with me.”

“Huh?”

“Might have to smack you into shape.” With that, Aiden ruffled his hair. “So let’s get started, kid.”

The gesture startled him to silence, and all he could think to do was be quiet and listen. And listen he did.

Come to find out, Aiden was one of the chief interrogators and negotiators under Don and the best at what he did. He refused to teach groups, but he was comfortable with one on one. So when Don had approached him about helping Rowan, he had only hesitated for a moment before agreeing to help his supervisor’s charge. Rowan learned quickly why he didn’t teach groups: he was rough, loud, and a brick wall when he wanted to be. He only barely managed not to laugh the first time Rowan attempted to punch him, said it was the weakest punch he’d ever felt. Rowan could tell even before Aiden asked if he was joking that his punch couldn’t harm a kitten.

Rowan was embarrassed a lot under Aiden’s tutelage, and often he thought himself an unsuccessful student. That was a first in a long time.

Aiden tried though. Rowan knew he wasn’t patient, but he tried. He didn’t succeed at all the moves Aiden attempted to show him. In fact, he hardly left a bruise on Aiden himself. Aiden said after a few weeks that there was improvement, though Rowan didn’t believe it. “I still can’t punch.”

“Sure you can. You’re safe from killer puppies at least.”

The snide comments weren’t meant to harm, but they rubbed Rowan the wrong way every time. “Bet you couldn’t throw a punch when you were twelve.”

He quickly learned Aiden always turned startlingly cold when Rowan mentioned things such as his unknown past, responding flatly and grinding his teeth until Rowan shut up. “I could do a helluva lot more than punch when I was six, now work on this,” he gripped Rowan’s bicep with one hand, “and then maybe you’ll be able to punch a medium sized dog.”

He found some buttons on his tutor, and tried not to push them. An irritable trainer would be unlikely to keep a promise not to break a student.

Despite his somewhat obvious temper though, Aiden didn’t hurt Rowan. Intentionally, at least. Sometimes Rowan had to tap out quicker than anticipated just from the sheer difficulty of a move. He almost felt hopeless learning from Aiden.

Until Aiden called in another Loose String to come in and work with Rowan so he could prove a point. Rowan didn’t realize the point until he’d effectively fended off the other Loose String using the exact moves he’d been failing to perfect on Aiden.

Rowan . . . was stunned. “How . . . ?”

And Aiden was smirking. “Just because you can’t beat me doesn’t mean you’re weak kid. It just means you can’t beat me.” The smirk widened and that won Aiden a defiant glare, which Aiden responded to by lightly batting Rowan’s head between his palms until Rowan smacked them away. “Look brat, the day you beat me is the day I’m half dead. Now do a pushup for every move you fumbled on.” Rowan groaned, but Aiden didn’t give.

Aiden tried. He tried, and after a while Rowan started to believe him when he said he was improving.