I deserve it. But I don’t know if I’ll survive it.
I may be brave in training or in battle—but I’m a coward. I can’t tell the truth to Vane Weston. Especially to Vane Weston.
Which is absurd. I already made my confession when I was seven.
Back then he just held me tighter and soaked my shoulder with his tears.
Will he react the same way today?
Or will he do what I deserve? Shove me away for betraying him? Destroying him?
Does it even matter?
Vane didn’t have the fourth breakthrough—and I refuse to try again. His mind is too fragile, too overwhelmed by all I’ve put it through. The winds could push him too deep again. Or pull him away. Either way, I can’t chance it. Won’t chance it. Vane is too important.
To the Gales.
To our world.
To me—though I shouldn’t let him be.
So if I only have a few days before I sacrifice myself, is it too much to hope that his memory of my confession doesn’t resurface until after I’m gone? That I leave this world knowing Vane Weston cares?
It’s the most abhorrent, selfish desire I’ve ever indulged. But staring down my death makes me allow it.
I force myself to meet his eyes. “You . . . need to know that you watched your mother die.”
His mouth forms several different words before he speaks. “Why are you telling me that?”
“Because I don’t want you to stumble blindly into the dream.”
“It was a tree, wasn’t it?” he whispers.
I shudder, remembering the way the tree shifted in the sky, aiming right for her heart. The crack of bone and branch mixed with the screams and the wailing wind. “Did you—?”
“Not yet. But I dreamed about a bloody tree floating through a storm. I figured . . .”
The silence that follows feels like a vacuum, expanding, closing off the world as Vane stares at the horizon, watching the white lines of waves streak toward the shore. An unstoppable force. Like the storm heading our way. Bearing down. Ready to crash any day.
“Was that really what you were going to tell me?” he asks.
My heart plummets, but I straighten up to sell the lie. “Of course. Why?”
“No reason.” He turns on his phone. “We should probably get on the road. It’s ten a.m. I’m sure my mom is freaking out.” His phone beeps. “Yep. Three voice mails.”
“Wow, she’s really worried about you.”
“I’m sure she’s planning different ways to murder me. As soon as she finds out I’m okay, of course.”
“That’s because she loves you.” I don’t mean to sound bitter, but I do.
Vane scoots closer, resting a hand on my knee. “Your mother loves you.”
She used to—I think. But not anymore.
I shrug my sadness away.
It doesn’t matter.
Nothing matters anymore.
So I don’t hesitate to take his hand when he offers it this time—and I don’t try to pull away as we walk to his car.
Maybe it’s everything I’ve been through. Maybe it’s knowing my days are numbered. Or maybe I’m finally giving in.
Whatever it is, I’m just along for the ride. For as long as I have left.
CHAPTER 41
VANE
Winds sing through the open windows as we streak down the freeway and I watch Audra from the corner of my eye. The motion lulled her to sleep, and it’s strange to see her so peaceful. The hard line of her jaw softened, turning her lips into a perfect heart.
Fantasies of kissing her flash through my mind, but I shove them away. Because I see something deeper, too. Something that forms a lump in my throat.
She’s giving up.
We didn’t talk about the whole me not having the fourth breakthrough thing—but we both know what it means. I won’t be strong enough.
I’m not sure what I’ll do with my power if I find it—if I can fight. Destroy. Kill.
But I’d kinda hoped that if I just found a way to understand the Westerlies, they’d have the answer.
I lean my head toward the open window and concentrate on the gusts I still can’t translate.
“If I’m really part of you,” I whisper, “tell me how to save her. How to save us.”
No answer.
I’m officially losing it. What do I expect? Some magical voice to whisper the perfect solution?
I need a plan.
The white lines on the freeway blur into streaks as I think harder than I’ve ever thought before. The brain’s a muscle, right? Maybe I just need to push it.
Fifteen minutes later all I have is a wicked headache.
I’m insanely grateful Audra slept through that little experiment. I probably looked constipated.
But there has to be a solution.
Has. To. Be.
I could always knock her out.
There’s no way I could ever bring myself to hurt her—but it’s too bad there’s no other way to make that happen. She can’t sacrifice herself if she’s unconscious.
“You look like you’re going to burst a vein in your forehead,” Audra says, making me jump. “What are you thinking about?”