Rebel Born (Secondborn #3)(64)

I slip under the thin blanket and pull it up to my chin as I curl into a ball facing the wall. Damp spots speckle my pillow.

The door of my room opens. “Roselle?” Reykin’s voice calls softly.

“I’m fine,” I reply. “I just need a moment. Can I just . . .” I hold my breath so that my tears don’t betray me. It’s no use, though. My breath catches, and a torrent of blubbering pours out of me. I have to stop crying in front of Reykin. I swear he’s going to think that it’s all I do now.

“You’re not okay,” Reykin replies, closer now. His tone is one we would use with wounded soldiers in battle—gentle and sparing.

“I will be in a minute. I just need . . .” My throat closes tightly again, and it’s hard to swallow back my tears.

The mattress dips as he sits beside me. He has his back to me, and his voice is a little muffled when he replies, “I really can’t leave you, Roselle. I swore to myself that if I found you, I’d never leave you again.”

“You didn’t leave me, Reykin. Leaving me would’ve been jumping from the platform at the Silver Halo. You did the brave thing and stayed with me until they tore us apart.”

“I’m coming in.” He pauses, as if implying that I should say something if I object. I don’t respond, and Reykin crawls under the blanket with me. His fingers touch my hair, smoothing it away from my neck. His arm curls around my waist, and he presses his rugged body to mine, spooning me. A large, calloused hand covers my trembling one. He rests his head on my pillow. His nose touches my nape. Soft, sweet-smelling breath tickles my neck. My breath catches in my throat. My body tingles with deep-seated awareness of him. His fingers thread through mine as he snuggles me closer still, our thighs clasping together, his languid body heat seeping through my uniform. The warmth of his hand stills my shakiness.

A million thoughts of Reykin bombard me at once, confusing me. I have that empty-belly feeling of fear. I’m not afraid of Reykin—I mean I am, but it’s not a threat that he’d hurt me physically. Anyway, I all but begged him to promise to kill me if my mind was ever overcome by Crow or Spectrum. The gut-wrenching ache I feel now stems from my belief that when he truly sees me for what I am, he won’t love me. How can he? I’m everything he dreads. And I want him to love me. I want it desperately. I have a forever kind of love for him. After a while, my tears subside and my throat doesn’t ache quite so much. I sniffle, lulled by Reykin’s body.

“I dreamt of you,” I whisper.

“You did?” He sounds surprised.

“I don’t remember any other dreams except that one.”

“What was it about?”

“You were holding me, like you are now, except we were in your room, at your home—where you took care of me. In my dream, you said something to me.”

“What did I say?”

“You told me to lead my army.” I sniffle and turn over to face him.

“That sounds like something I’d say.” He has a small dimple in his chin that hides when his beard grows in a little. It’s present now.

“I’m not the same person you knew, Reykin.”

“I don’t care,” he replies with a breathy laugh. “I’ll love the person you are now, if you let me.”

“I might be losing my mind,” I whisper. Another tear runs from the corner of my eye. I dash it away with my sleeve.

“You said you saw Hawthorne in the water, right? This is the second time this has happened.”

I sniffle. “The first time was just a glimpse. It was like catching someone with the corner of my eye. This time was different. He was in the window, screaming for me to help him, only I couldn’t hear him because he was on the other side.”

“Did he look like he was in the water, or did he look like he was inside the glass?”

“He looked . . .” I have a clear image in my mind of what I saw. “He looked like he was inside the glass.”

“And, you’re sure Hawthorne’s dead?”

My heart races. “Yes. I found his body.”

“And there’s no way he could come back to life, like you did?”

“I don’t know.”

“I can think of two scenarios that make what you saw ‘real’”—he lets go of my hand and uses air quotes to highlight the word—“and not a trick of your imagination.”

“I’m listening.”

“Okay, the first is that Spectrum is breaking through to your mind, somehow, and trying to get you to sabotage the ship, or manipulate you into returning to them, or killing us all. If that’s the case, Hawthorne is a simulation meant to strike you where you’re most vulnerable.”

I feel myself growing paler. My hands resume trembling in full force. I push them beneath the blanket to hide them from Reykin. He can probably feel my body quaking in fear of Spectrum’s gaining access to my mind again.

“What’s your second scenario?” I ask.

“The second one is that it really is Hawthorne, and he’s desperately trying to contact you from inside Spectrum. Within the artificial intelligence, he’s still alive—or at least he thinks he is. Either way, you’re not losing your mind.”

“If the second one is true, I’ve trapped Hawthorne inside Spectrum forever. He has no way of escaping if he exists only inside it.”