Page 33

Zandrel

Midway through our journey back to the production zone, the sky opens up.

Rain falls in heavy sheets, soaking us both, but Roslyn barely reacts. She keeps her hands fixed securely on the steering column, her spine straight, her expression impassive, even as lash after lash of rain breaks over her.

My dread grows all the way back to the craftyard.

It grows as we find the hidden door in the fence and as we hurry back through the underbrush toward the beach.

Curdling sour in my stomach, climbing up the back of my throat, I don’t know what to say, what to do, how to help her.

She still hasn’t said a word by the time we make it back to the bungalow.

I let us inside, then turn to make sure the locks and sensors are set, when a motion at the corner of my vision sends my heart leaping into my throat.

Roslyn has walked a couple of steps ahead, pausing in the middle of the room.

She stays there for a few suspended seconds, body frozen, before her knees buckle and her legs crumple beneath her.

I move without thinking, lunging for her and catching her around the waist before she slams into the floor. I sink with her, falling to my knees and shifting to sit on the cold tile while I cradle her against me.

And then Roslyn breaks.

Her breath comes in great, heaving gasps, and she grasps handfuls of my shirt like she’s trying to anchor herself in the storm that’s raging from within and without. Her tears bleed into my already-soaked shirt, her body jerks with the force of her sobs, and just like it has been with so much else these last few days, there’s nothing I can do to help.

There’s nothing I can do to fix it or make it stop.

There’s nothing I can do but be here.

Roslyn got her answers. She found her sister. And while I don’t know what they talked about during the time they disappeared together, the goodbye they shared told me everything I need to know.

I cradle a hand around the back of her head, pull her closer. Shifting a little on the floor with Roslyn held firmly against me, I sit on the tiles with my back pressed to the side of the kitchen island. She curls into my lap, sobs still coming hard and fast, body trembling with the force of them.

Outside, thunder rolls and lightning flashes bright and violent against the window panes, but we might be the only two beings in the universe here, alone, together. I didn’t have time to turn on the lights, and the darkness between each lightning strike cocoons us, pulls close and wraps us both in its embrace.

Roslyn and I stay that way for a long, long time.

Until her sobs grow quiet, and her ragged breathing evens out. Until she might almost be sleeping with how silent and still she is. And still we sit, holding vigil, and still I don’t know how to make it better.

Am I making it better?

Is this what she needs?

I hope it is. I hope she finds some comfort here.

She eventually falls asleep against me—a light, uneasy doze, and likely not very comfortable with the way she’s still curled into a tight ball on my lap.

Taking great care not to jostle her, I carry her into the bedroom and ease her down onto the sheets. I’m about to leave her there, to retreat and give her the space she likely needs, when her hand catches mine.

“Stay.”

She gives the command in a voice that’s still raw with tears. I join her there, keeping her hand clasped firmly in mine, held tight, the only comfort I can offer in a universe filled with unknowable, unspeakable heartache. A universe that so very rarely offers any justice or comfort of its own.