Page 104 of The Secrets of Jane: Reborn

He inhales deeply, staring out the window. “I’ve heard of this Misery, mostly across the seas…” He throws his glare at me, the gregarious nature washing away. “Let’s speak further, then. Because that’s a serious allegation about the Spiraling Stone, if true.”

J A N E

When I wake, I’m so disoriented I fully believe I’m sleeping in the small garden we had growing up, half expecting my mother to stand over me while offering some bread for a snack once I woke up after sleeping under a warm sun.

My gaze drifts to the dirt next to me, completely forgetting about everything, even though I know there’s a life to remember.

As my heart rate increases, my mind returns to me.

Soren.

Lifting my head, I look for Anya—she’s awake, sitting up against a tree, the bruising deepening in color on her face, even down into her neck. Trying my best to get back into a seated position, I grunt when digging my elbow into the dirt.

“You slept like the dead,” Anya comments softly.

“My mom would say my body needed it, then.” I finally manage to sit with my back against the tree trunk once more, my body aching so much that every breath is uncomfortable. I definitely kinked my neck lying there. My fingers are freezing, and I stick them between my thighs.

What in the hells would Mom think of me now?

Taking in the scene is disorienting, too, like I forget how to focus my attention. The fire is reduced down to smoke and charred wood, the morning light just barely illuminating the jungle. Many of the men start to rise, some hacking to clear their lungs and others walking off to shit loudly in the forest.

Misery’s hood is dark until the orange light slowly burns again. So if he just sat in the same damn corner all night, his little flickering eyes burned out, does that mean he gets tired? Maybe even rests? Cypress mentioned how weak he is already.How he had to exhaust himself.

Maybe I can find a way to get close to him. Or butter up Blackwell and learn more about Misery. Take advantage of Blackwell’s ego, stroke itjustright so he slips a few things.

“Everyone up!” Blackwell shouts, walking through the underbrush. “Jesper is near.”

“Great,” Anya mutters.

“Who?”

“The leader of the Order of Ash.”

Blackwell’s gaze focuses on us, pointing two fingers our way and waving his hand. “And separate those two.”

Anya and I are re-positioned by someone grabbing our ropes and yanking us to our feet. We’re taken into the underbrush to relieve ourselves, never going past a totem pole.

I’m able to piss in peace behind a tree, the small reprieve a moment of opportunity. Can I use the solitude for something? Anything? Make a run for it?

You’re not here to escape or be rescued, Jane.

Tying my pants back together with my hands in front of me, my bound arms severely limiting my ability, the man assigned to me drags me back to the camp where they allow me to eat cold meat and drink some weak ale.

The sound of a wagon being pulled makes me look down the wide path we’re camped next to; I’m shoved onto my knees, wincing when it jolts my broken body.

Can they fuckingnot?

A man I don’t recognize approaches us all, leading the horse-drawn wagon, a troupe of about fifteen or so armed men accompanying him. I look up at the stranger who stands in front of me as if I’m supposed to be impressed. He has sharp, angular features. Deep-set, obsidian eyes bore into mine. “Jane.” He squats down. “Jane, Jane,Jane.”

Don’t do it. Don’t say something that will incite more pain.

“Looks like you picked her up after tumbling her off a cliff’s edge, and then let her rot in her own waste,” the man comments with disgust before glancing up at Blackwell. “How is her personality? Meek at all?”

There’s an eagerness in his voice, and I’m not sure why he’d care that much. In that, I nearly tell him to pull his cock out of his ass, until it dawns on me—meek. I can play meek. I’ll have the upper hand if he thinks I’m subdued, whoever this man is… probably the one named Jesper, if I had to guess.Channel desperation.

“Soren seemed to have control over her,” Blackwell says. “And she’s definitely not meek. That’s why she’s like that. Hasn’t earned proper clothes.”

Well, fuck you, asshole.