Qebhet's heart ached for Marcie, for Kaden; for Ronan, wherever his spirit now resided. "Not such a large gap," she said. Four years could seem like a gulf at their age, but the distance between Ronan and Kaden wasn't one of years. It was a finger curled around the trigger of a gun. It was fists stained with another man's blood. Qebhet wondered how old Ronan had been when he had first started running with the War Dogs. "He had to grow up fast. Nobody gave him the chance to be a teenager, the way he gave Kaden."