It’s a strange question coming from her. She’s rarely curious about me. So I decide to be honest. “I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself for me.”
She sighs. “We’ve been over this.”
“Yeah, and I keep waiting for you to stop acting crazy. Face the facts, Audra. I may never have the fourth breakthrough. So everyone needs to stop hanging their hopes on me like I’m the miracle they’ve all been praying for.”
“You’re the last Westerly, Vane. Breakthrough or no breakthrough doesn’t change that.”
“Pretty sure it does.”
“No, it doesn’t. Right now you’re an unknown variable. Raiden doesn’t know how powerful you truly are. And as long as he doesn’t, we can use that. Keep him worried and distracted, waiting to see what you can do.”
“Great, so you’ll give up your life to save a pawn.”
“Not a pawn. A weapon.”
Ice slices through my veins at the word. “I don’t want to be a weapon.”
“I know.” I can barely hear her soft whisper over the wind. Not that I have any idea what to do with it.
We drive in silence as my car crests the mountains, and the San Gorgonio Pass Wind Farm comes into view. The gleaming windmills line the hills, stark white against the bright blue sky, their blades pumping from the force of the swirling winds.
In a few miles we’ll be home.
I’m not ready to go back to reality. Not with so few days left until the Stormers arrive. Not with parents who will demand answers I don’t have. Not without figuring out how to save Audra.
Golden arches appear on the horizon at the same moment her stomach rumbles.
Inspiration strikes.
I change lanes, heading toward the off-ramp.
If I can get her to live her life for herself in small ways and see how awesome it is, maybe that will convince her not to sacrifice herself.
“Where are we going?” Audra asks.
“We’re stopping for lunch.”
CHAPTER 42
AUDRA
The heavy scent of grease and salt clings to the inside of Vane’s car, practically suffocating me. The late-morning sun hammers through the glass, but Vane keeps the windows closed tight, trapping me with the smell.
Sharp pains sear my stomach but I ignore them. Much like I ignore the soggy bag of untouched food he set on the dashboard in front of me. Or the seething Vane next to me, taking his frustration out on his poor, shredded hamburger.
“You won’t even try a bite?” he asks again. He holds out a French fry to tempt me.
My mouth fills with saliva, but I shake my head and swallow, hating the sloshy thud I feel in my gut as I do.
Honestly, I don’t know why he seems so surprised. This isn’t exactly a new development.
“You want to eat,” he says when my stomach growls. “You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”
I can’t disagree with that. So I take a page from the Vane book of arguing and simply shrug.
He doesn’t seem to like that, tossing the fry back into the bag with extra force. “You’re starving yourself so you can be strong a few months from now—when you probably won’t even need to be. Do you see the insanity there?”
My stomach growls again and I clamp my arms around my waist, trying to wring out the sound. The hollowness in my gut feels like it’s swallowing me whole.
Vane snorts. “So what’d you do?”
“What?”
“You live in a piece of crap burned-down house in the middle of the freaking desert. You barely sleep. You aren’t allowed to eat or drink. It’s like someone’s trying to punish you.”
“No one is punishing me. I chose this life for myself because it’s what I wanted.”
It is, I remind myself. And it’s what my father asked me to do.
“Then why do you want to punish yourself?”
Silence sits between us. An ugly, awkward thing I can practically feel staring at me. But I have no way to break it.
Vane grabs my hand again. His touch is soft, gentle—but firm, too. He isn’t going to let me pull away.
“Why do you live like your life doesn’t matter? You do matter. You matter to me—and not because you’re this fierce warrior thing who’s going to sacrifice yourself to save me. You matter because you’re you.”
He mumbles the last words, like he’s embarrassed to say them.
I’ve been trying not to look at him, trying to keep this moment under control. But my head seems to turn on its own, and my eyes pull to his.
“You’re the one constant thing I’ve had in my life. I lost my entire past—except you. You stayed with me. And kept coming back, every time I closed my eyes.” His cheeks look flushed and he shifts in his seat. “I looked forward to seeing that girl with the long, dark hair whipping around her face. I looked forward to you. The real you. Not this buttoned-up soldier girl you pretend to be.”
“I’m not pretending.”
“Maybe not. But it’s not who you are, either.”
I flinch as he reaches for my braid, running his fingers along the intricate weaving.
“Doesn’t this give you a headache?” he asks.
Yes. “No.”