Vanish (Firelight #2)(46)

“About one in the morning.”

A thick lump rises in my throat. Miram must be far away by now. She didn’t have the luxury of a bed or food. I swing my legs over the bed, my head full of thoughts of reaching her. Saving her. How could I have left her?

“Whoa there.” Will sits beside me on the bed, his warm hand on my shoulder. It’s a touch I remember. A touch I want to lean into, absorb and forget everything else. “Where are you going?”

“To get Miram.” Where else? A chill skates over my bare legs as the sheet slips to the side. I glance down and see that I’m wearing only a white undershirt that must belong to Will.

“I helped you into that,” he explains, a faint tinge of red coloring his face.

“Thanks,” I murmur, remembering I didn’t have much on when I fell asleep in the passenger seat. Just that scratchy blanket. I curl my fingers around the shirt’s hem, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Here I am. Alone in a motel room with Will, but this solitude is not something I can enjoy. Not with everything that has happened.

“Miram’s your friend?” he asks quietly, patiently.

I wince. “Sorta.”

He stares at me starkly, moments stretching between us. “I’m sorry. Jacinda, she’s gone. There’s no helping her now.”

“No!” I shake my head wildly, a snarl of hair catching in my mouth. I swipe it free. “It’s my fault she was out there—”

“How is it your fault when she wouldn’t come with us? There was nothing you could do.”

I ignore his logic, thinking only of Cassian when he learns his sister is lost. “You can do something! You’re one of them—”

He flinches, but I don’t care. For once this doesn’t twist my stomach into knots. Guilt doesn’t ribbon its way through me because I’m in love with one of the monsters that would hunt me, toss me in the back of a van, bind my hands and wings, and then sell me for parts. In this situation, what he is should be a help.

“No, Jacinda. It’s done. She’s already been delivered. . . .”

Delivered. Like she’s goods, an inanimate object. A package. I feel something inside me withering, pulling away from him.

“You won’t help me, you mean,” I announce, my words a hard bite.

The air-conditioning unit near the wide, curtained window kicks to life, a loud rumble in the tiny room. A rush of cool air wafts over me, but even this fails to relieve my skin or calm my nerves.

In the gloom, his features look drawn and tight, pained that he can’t—won’t—give me the words I desperately need to hear. “I can’t,” he repeats. “She’s at the stronghold by now. Nothing escapes that place.”

Nothing escapes that place. Meaning draki captives live there? As prisoners? They don’t kill them right away?

A flash of my father intrudes. He slips into my crowded mind. The image of his laughing eyes, his handsome face that I can’t recall as clearly anymore, fills my head. Lying in bed late at night, I sometimes flip on the lights and reach for a photograph of him, something real, something I can hold in my hands. Proof that he did exist, that I remember him and see him still, that I will never forget all the wonderful things he taught me. That I never forget him. Never forget his love.

I have no trouble seeing his face now, but I shove the memory aside, not daring to let myself hope for something as unlikely—as impossible—as my father alive after all these years.

“But Miram’s alive? They won’t have killed her, that’s what you’re saying.” I stare deeply into his eyes, their color lost to me in the shadowed room.

He winces, like he regrets implying that. “Yeah,” he admits with a heavy sigh. “She’ll live. If you could call it that. I don’t think they’ve seen too many draki who can make themselves invisible. Just a few. They’ll run tests on her . . . take samples. She’ll live. For a while, anyway.”

A sick feeling swells up from my stomach, but with it mingles relief. I deliberately keep myself from wondering what they would have done with me. I know from Will that they don’t even believe fire-breathers exist anymore. Now they know we do. I do.

What he’s telling me about the enkros is more than I’ve even known, and it gives me hope for Miram.

“So there’s a chance—” He starts to shake his head, but I cut him off. “There’s a chance.” I look at him intently. “With your help, there’s a chance.” My hand reaches across the inches separating us and seizes his.

“But there’s not. There’s no chance.” His voice is deep, that velvet rumble from my dreams pleading with me to accept, to let Miram go.

I can’t. I see Cassian’s face, my mother’s, my sister’s . . . the three of them when they’re left wondering what happened to us. My heart clutches with a pain that makes all I’ve endured seem such a small thing. Miram is lost. Because of me. I can’t just run away with Will pretending that didn’t happen.

Something in me dies, unravels like the last bit of a frayed rope that can bear no more. My grip loosens on his hand, fingers sliding free. I pull away.

He snatches my hand back, lacing his strong fingers with mine, pressing our palms together in a kiss. “Jacinda,” he whispers.

I lock eyes with him, see the need there, read the silent question that he’s asking me. Know that he wants assurance that we’re still on target with our plan.