I focus on the road as we start moving again.
“You’re meant to be with Solana,” she presses. “When you meet her, you’ll realize you’ve wasted all this precious time and energy trying to prevent the best thing that ever happened to you.”
There’s zero chance of that happening. But there’s no point arguing with her. For now.
“Fine,” I mumble.
She swallows several times before she speaks again. When she does, her voice sounds strained. “You won’t regret it. I promise.”
I’m not so sure about that.
But I am sure of one thing.
I’ve never felt anything like what I feel when I’m around Audra, and if I needed convincing, feeling the difference with Hannah tonight proved it.
Audra’s the one. My head knows it. My heart knows it. Even my senses know it.
So if I can only bond myself to one girl in my lifetime, I know who it will be.
CHAPTER 34
AUDRA
I don’t want to leave the car.
Tucked in the private space, with the wind streaming through the window and the night draped around us, Vane and I reached a strange sort of truce. I can’t shake the feeling it will slip away as soon as I step outside.
Vane hesitates as he turns off the engine. Maybe he fears the same thing.
Then he opens his door and steps into the stuffy darkness.
I try to follow him, but I can’t figure out how to unlatch the absurd seat restraint. Thankfully, I find the switch before Vane opens my door to assist me—the last thing I need is another jolt of his strange heat.
“Do we still have to train tonight?” he asks, staring at his parents’ house instead of me.
He has so much left to learn. And we have so few days left. My eyes dart involuntarily to the sky, searching for traces of a storm.
The stars wink back at me, promising a calm night.
My mother must be keeping her promise. Otherwise, they’d have found us by now.
I need to make the best use of the extra time.
But I need to regroup. Figure out where we go from here.
“You haven’t checked in with your family all day. You should probably stay in tonight. We’ll get an early start tomorrow to make up for it.”
He nods. “Well . . . good night.”
I retreat to the grove before he can say anything further. On the way to my shelter I retrieve my jacket and windslicer from where I discarded them in my hasty flight. Both are covered in bugs and dirt. It’s like this place overruns everything, tainting it, smothering it, trying to ruin it. I won’t let it do that to me.
Gavin screeches from his perch on the windowsill when I stumble home. Poor bird has been severely neglected these last few days.
I stroke the feathers at the scruff of his neck and stare out the window. The moonlight’s bright enough that I can see my reflection in the cracked, dirty glass. I look pale. Dark shadows rim my eyes, and strands of hair have broken free of my braid, sticking out in wild, erratic tufts. Hardly attractive.
My mind flashes to the girl Vane was with tonight.
Soft blond hair.
Soft blue eyes.
Soft fingers twined around Vane’s hand.
He chose me.
The thought feels foreign.
But it’s also true.
The thrill that gives me is wrong for more reasons than I can count—but I feel it nonetheless.
My head aches from my tight braid, and it’s too much for my exhausted brain to handle tonight. I undo the careful knot at the end, letting my hair unweave, finally releasing the pressure. The dark, wavy strands settle around my face.
I will never be glamorous like my mother. I have too much of my father in me. His square jaw and narrow nose. The low arch of my brows.
Still, there’s something dark and mysterious about my reflection in the window. Something striking and powerful.
Is that enough to count as beautiful?
What does Vane see when he looks at me?
I turn away, tempted to punch the glass. I’m in the greatest danger of my life, and I’m playing with my hair and wondering if the boy I can’t have—and refuse to let myself want—thinks I’m pretty.
It’s time to get ahold of myself—now.
I reweave my hair into the braid, pulling the strands tighter than ever. If only I could wrangle my feelings as easily.
I can’t. So I’ll do the next best thing.
I slip into my jacket, unsheathe the windslicer, and stomp outside to the widest clearing in the grove. The still night is thick with the sounds of skittering rodents and chirping insects, and the warm air makes my clothes cling to my skin. But I don’t care.
I bend my knees, squatting into my starting posture. Two deep breaths bring me focus. Then I throw myself into my memorized exercises.
I slash and stab. Dip and spin. Race up the sides of trees and back-flip off. Dive toward the ground and somersault back up. Push my lithe muscles as hard as I can, ignoring the extra weight of the water, the extra burn in my limbs.
Sweat soaks my uniform and I pant for breath. Still I swipe and thrust, hacking leaves off the palms, slashing trunks, slicing the air with a surge of strength and speed.
This is who I am.