They left for Jud's before sunrise.
Fall was in full effect — the trees along the path half-bare, their leaves scattered across the ground in damp, curling layers. The air smelled like wood smoke and wet soil. Cold sank through Peter's sleeves and into his fingers. He kept his hood up and walked with his arms folded tight, breath fogging in short puffs.
His father walked ahead, quiet, boots crunching softly through the leaves. His pace was steady, but slower than usual — like he was giving Peter the option to stop, to say he wasn't ready.
Peter had tried explaining it to him — how the energy hurt as soon as it touched his meridians. A sharp, hot-cold, electric pain, like nerves flinching. He hadn't gotten past that point yet. The energy would touch those channels and seize up, and that was it.
But today, he told his dad, he was going to push through it.
His dad had just nodded. Nothing more.
Peter had tried talking to Nicki, too. She barely responded. She barely ate or drank anything. That morning, she'd just sat at the table with a crust of bread in her hand and a cup of tea she hadn't touched.
She didn't seem to be looking at anything in particular — just off to the side, eyes unfocused. She kept one arm across her stomach like something ached, but didn't say a word about it.
Peter didn't know how to reach her. Neither did his dad. They hadn't said it out loud, but both knew they were losing her a little more each day.
They finally reached Jud's place just as the sky was starting to pale — not sunrise yet, but close. The frost still clung to the grass, and Peter's boots made soft scuffing sounds on the wooden steps. Smoke curled from the chimney, thin and steady.
Jud had a fire going inside. Peter could smell it from the yard — sharp and dry, like pine or maybe cedar. The warmth bled faintly through the open door.
Jud stood outside, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. His expression was unreadable as usual, though his eyes flicked over Peter and his father like he was already evaluating something.
Next to him stood a man Peter didn't recognize — maybe mid-thirties, though something about him made it hard to tell. He looked tired in a way that went past sleep: face drawn, eyes shadowed, skin slightly pale like he spent more time indoors than he should. His jacket hung loose on him, and his jeans had grass stains like he'd slept somewhere he shouldn't have.
Peter studied him and had the quiet thought: He probably drinks a lot.
As if to confirm it, the man pulled a silver flask from his coat and took a slow, practiced sip.
Peter looked at the sky. Still no sun.
Jeez, he thought. It's not even up yet and he is drinking… maybe it was water, but Peter doubted it.
He glanced at his dad, who didn't say a word, but his jaw had set a little tighter. He was definitely not impressed.
The fire crackled low outside, throwing soft amber light aroud the yard. The smell of burning pine hung in the air, sharp and a little sweet. Jud stood with one shoulder against the doorframe, wearing beat-up army pants and a jacket with the sleeves rolled up.
As Peter and his father stepped closer, Jud tipped his head in greeting.
"Peter, boy — welcome," he said, his voice low and a little gritty. "This here's Carl." He jerked his thumb toward the man with the flask. "World champ MMA, military-trained, master o' conditionin' an' all kinda shit. Ain't much he don' know how to toughen."
Carl gave him a slow look out the corner of his eye, like he'd heard it too many times already. He didn't say a word. Just took another sip from his flask and let out a sigh like smoke.
Jud grinned anyway. "Don' mind him. He don't talk less he need to." Jud said looking at Carl.
He turned toward Peter's father, giving him a respectful nod.
"You must be the boy's pops, yeah?"
"I am," the man said. "Joseph."
"Pleasure, Joseph." Jud gave a quick handshake, rough hands, calloused. "Boy's lucky. You bring him out here this early, you serious."
Peter stood still, eyeing Carl, who hadn't moved except to drink. The man looked half-asleep, but his eyes — they were awake. Watching everything.
Jud clapped his hands once. "A'ight then, lets start workin'- Carl is in charge."
As stood in Jud's backyard, just past the porch steps. The ground was soft with fallen leaves, some still damp from last night's frost. The smell of smoke drifted from the fire pit near the shed — not strong, just enough to mix with the cold.
Peter shifted his feet, boots crunching faintly on gravel and twigs. He could see his breath. The fire popped once, throwing a few sparks into the half-light.
He looked at Jud, then down at the book under his arm, the corner of it digging into his ribs.
He drew in a long breath. "Why are you doing all this?" he asked. "My dad wants to know… and I kinda want to know too."
Jud didn't answer. He was halfway between the shed and the fence, arms tucked into the pockets of his jacket.
Peter adjusted the book. "Why'd you give us food yesterday? How do you even know what meridians and dantians are?"
He hesitated, then added, "And like… why do we need Carl?"
Carl, off to the side by a rusted barrel, took another sip from his flask without looking over. His breath came out slow and white in the chill.
Jud stopped walking. Turned back. His boots crunched in the dead grass.
He looked at Peter — eyes steady, mouth unreadable.
Then he grinned.
Jud stood still in the frosty backyard, smoke from the fire pit curling behind him like steam from a slow boil.
He pointed at Peter, shaking his head with a crooked smile. "Outta all dem motherfuckers out there, you the only one askin' the right questions. And you a kid."
He tapped his temple. "Can't teach instincts like that."
Peter stayed quiet. The wind stirred a few dry leaves past his boots.
Jud's grin faded into something quieter. "Also… I got good vibes off you. Maybe not good—maybe not right—but I believe you one who can be counted on."
Joseph raised an eyebrow at that.
Jud glanced his way. "Things changin'. I can feel it, clear as frost. And I can't do this shit alone. I need like-minded risers. People step up to the line. I been out there—huntin'. It's a goddamn battle zone."
He jerked a thumb toward Peter's father. "He knows."
Peter turned to his dad. Joseph met his eyes and said, flatly, "I cannot refute anything you've said."
Peter started, "But Mayor Clyde, I believe—"
"Mayor Clyde is shit-for-brains," Jud snapped, cutting him off.
He spat into the grass. "He got us all turtled up and hidin'. Y'all talkin' like military comin'. Maybe it does. Maybe it don't. But what if it don't?"
Peter blinked. The cold air felt sharper. Like he was finally being exposed to the politics behind survival — the real ones.
Jud wasn't finished.
"I don't see Clyde takin' any risks. And he supposed to be the leader of this goddamn town."
He stepped closer, voice dropping just enough to make it hit harder.
"If you like your boy," Jud said, staring straight at Joseph, " he got a good head on him, yeah?"
He didn't wait for an answer.
"Then what about you? You got a good head?"
Jud's voice dropped, slower now, dead serious.
"You really think Mayor Clyde ain't a two-faced piece o' shit?"
eter didn't understand half of what was really going on — not the history between them, not the alliances behind the words. God, he hated being a kid sometimes. Everyone else seemed to know things he didn't, speaking in a language built out of grudges and half-told stories.
His father gave Jud a long, level look. "You're describing every politician we know."
It sounded like a jab, but it wasn't aimed at Jud. If anything, it was aimed with him — at Clyde.
Jud let out a rough laugh. "Why don't you join the sheriff's party then?"
He scratched at the back of his head. "Aw, me an' the sheriff don't get along too sweet. It's personal an' shit. But he know — hell or high water — I ain't on that fuckin' mayor's side."
Peter blinked.
So Clyde was the mayor. The sheriff was the other option. And Jud — rough as he was — stood behind the sheriff unofficially. Quiet support. Unspoken alliance.
Peter just wanted to move past it. The back-and-forth, the names, the sides. He was cold, confused, and tired of the guessing.
"So why Carl?" he asked.
Carl still hadn't moved. Still standing at the fire, shoulders hunched slightly, one hand in his coat pocket.
He wasn't even pretending to listen.
Carl stood off by the fire, arms crossed, not sayin' a word. The flames cracked quietly in the pit, casting a low orange light that flickered across his jaw. His breath curled in the cold, steady and silent.
"Carl one mean motherfu—" Jud started.
"Can you please stop swearing so much?" Joseph cut in, sharp. His eyes flicked to Peter, then back to Jud. "Seriously."
Jud froze mid-sentence, shoulders jerking a little like he'd been tapped. "Aw, sh—" He raised both hands like he was caught red-handed. "Damn. Sorry 'bout dat," he muttered, glancing sheepishly at Peter. "I forget sometimes. Got kids 'round. Tryin' to clean it up, y'know? Bein' better and… and shit."
Peter stared at him, deadpan. He didn't believe it for a second.
Jud sniffed once, rocked on his heels like he was shaking it off. "Anyways. Carl here? He one mean sumbitch. Was on track to be a real-deal MMA champ — no joke — till he lost his leg in the Corps. Marines."
The way he said it, it had weight — not just facts, but respect.
"He ain't just fists, neither," Jud went on. "He know pain. Know control. He the best I seen throw hands. Ever."
Carl didn't flinch. He stood like stone, his face half in shadow, half in firelight. The wind nudged his coat slightly, but he didn't move.
Peter's eyes dropped to Carl's leg. The left one — the way the fabric hung off it, too straight, too stiff — that had to be the prosthetic. There was no limp, but there was no bend either.
Jud clapped once, the sound loud in the cold. "Carl here gon' make us strong."
Joseph shifted forward, hands in his coat pockets. "Carl, is it?" he asked. "Why are you doing this?"
Carl let out a long breath. The kind that fogged the air but carried no warmth. He didn't answer right away. Just stared into the fire like it was saying something.
Then finally: "Are we gonna train," he said, voice dry as kindling, "or keep wastin' time on this bullshit?"
Jud chuckled under his breath like he appreciated the efficiency.
Carl turned his eyes to Peter. "You don't gotta listen. Your call. But if you do — it won't be easy. I'll break you down first. Then build you up. Stronger. You want that?"
Peter nodded, slowly. Then hesitated. "Okay. One last question."
Carl gave no sign he heard, but didn't stop him either.
Peter looked over at Jud. "How do you even know what a meridian is?"
Jud grinned, giving a confident grin.
"Anime," he said. "Cultivation novels. And my step mama — she was deep into all dat Eastern medicine stuff. Talkin' chakras, meridians, dantians — all that. Had me stretchin' on a yoga mat, drinkin' ginger tea, and breathin' through my belly 'fore I knew what half that mess meant."
Peter was convinced Jud was weird.
Genuine, yeah — but definitely weird.
He watched him scratch his jaw and stare into the fire like it was thinking back. Jud had just gone from anime to energy channels to herbal tea without missing a beat.
Weird. But not fake.
The fire cracked behind them. The cold pressed in around the edges. Leaves shifted quietly across the yard.
Then Joseph spoke.
"Well," he said, brushing ash off his sleeve, "let's not burn daylight."
Peter let out a breath. He hadn't realized he was holding it. Looked like his dad was on board — for now. That was enough.
Carl shifted slightly, gravel crunching under his prosthetic. He didn't speak.
The silence stretched.
Then it started —
the hardest workout of Peter's lif