Flynn was the second kind.

I had spent my life among people who needed me small.

In that car, bleeding and barefoot, I had accidentally found the first person in years who was pleased to discover I was not small at all.

That was the moment I stopped merely trusting Flynn out of necessity, and began, cautiously, to respect him.

He had rescued a girl.

And when the girl turned out to be dangerous, he did not flinch.