Page 44 of The Secrets of Jane: Reborn

Irefuse to acknowledge the part of me that is fucked up and may have enjoyed the way it felt to have Soren pin me down, to frame it from an angle ofcaringabout me, as if I matter. I don’t care if that’s not healthy—I’m not a healthy person, and I don’t know if I ever will be.

If I evenwantto be.

I don’t know this man as if it’s been years, but I’m pretty confident in saying his expressions are everything—I think he means it that he doesn’t want me to hide anything from him.

While I lie there in the bed, staring at the ceiling that’s barely lit by the dwindling hearth, I’m pretty certain Soren’s asleep. We’ve eaten, washed off our bodies, and now he’s resting. I roll my head over to stare at the side of his face, fascinated with how mundane he is when he sleeps.How much he’s just a man who has had to cull so many parts of his soul to thicken it enough to weather this world.

A man with fears.

I want to ask so many questions about his sister, about the girl who was fascinated with a world outside of here while someone like me always dreamed of returning.

I let my guilt spill out while he sleeps, mulling over what Cypress said. My heart will shatter a little when he realizes he will not only be unable to read me, but that Misery might get his hands on me, too… and I knew. The whole time, I knew, and I will have hid that from him.

How much are Cypress’s warnings true? How much would telling Sorentrulydisrupt everything?

I’m not dumb enough to think he wouldn’t take immediate action. He’d absolutely inform the Scorpion, and then I’d havetwoZenith trying to wedge their way between what’ssupposedto happen.

I don’t even care what the fates have planned for me at this point with Misery, not if it’s the best chance forsurvival. I want to make sure Kathleen is safe, that Sorenwon’tdie, and that I somehow live to help him recover Serena.Cypress nearly promised that, but I have to see myself as a weapon, not some noble sacrifice.

Soren’s head slightly rolls to face me, his eyes still closed and his breathing long and slow. I stare at him without anyreservation in this silent peace. I barely scraped the surface of seeing histrueheart, and by the gods, do I want it all. I wanthim.

Rising from the bed is something I finally commit to, wrapping myself in one of the many blankets here, and sit right in front of the diminishing fire. I jump when my ass touches the cold stone floor, re-positioning so it’s on the inside of the fur before I get comfortable.

I stare at the crackle, remembering that I forgot to ask Cypress about being a Cinder. Is that important? Useful at all? Or is it just something about me that’s as relevant as my hair color?

I reach out to stick my hand in one of the small flames, a burn never charring my flesh. It oddly makes me start to cry, to think of Maryanne and the villagers. I could have saved so many more people if I’d known I didn’t have to be afraid of burning.What if fighting Cypress is akin to me being afraid of fire?

Mindlessly, my hand lowers to do something I’ve never quite done, and I rest it on the burning log, touching the white, ashen parts that are ready to fall off. It’s justreallywarm, like it might start burning me if I’m not careful, but nothing amounts from there.

The yearning for my mother, to ask her about her experience as a Cinderanda healer, is like floating in a body of water and constantly being taken under, wondering if I’ll ever surface again.

It’s so immensely unfair I don’t have her, and I’ll never be able to ask her questions about life. Abouthers.

The bed shifts—I glance over my shoulder to see pale eyes staring at me. I try to cork every emotion I just felt so he won’t have to worry, not while he needs to recover. Not while I’m still mulling over it all.

“Go back to sleep,” I gently say. “I’m just playing with fire.”

He gives a crooked grin, and his eyes gently close. I know he’s absolutely exhausted, and his body no doubt has to bebeggingto sleep.I rarely see him like this, which just confirms how much he needs to rest.

And in that, once I feel like Soren is slumbering once more, I move to one of the chairs, unable to return to the bed just yet, settling in as I stare at Soren. It feels a little creepy, but who knows when I’ll be able to do this again? What if visions of this are the only thing to get me through what’s to come? What if this is one of the last few good days of my life?I know how fleeting they can be…

If there’s one thing I regret about my mother’s death, it’s that I didn’t spend enough time to ensure I burned certain moments in my brain like a tattoo.

Yes, I’ll unabashedly enjoy this quiet for now. Because tomorrow, I start training. Until my legs fall off.

I will do whatever it takes to protect this man and keep him in my life.

The wooden bladecracks against my calf, stinging as my buckling knee sends me to the ground.

My fingers clamp tight on the training sword, pivoting while falling, the act more instinctual already after doing it countless times. On the ground, I parry the next blow as the two pieces of wood clack against each other.

The iron grip I thought I had means nothing as the training blade flies out of my hand.

“In sword fighting, your strength is not in brute force, dying pigeon,” Bones remarks, standing above me. “You’re not quite strong enough to take the pressure of someone else’s blade right now.”

I snarl at Bones, panting as I reach over to grab mine. Gritting my teeth, I rise to my feet, wiping at my brow. “So just don’t parry, then? I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.”

“Wouldn’t say that, but you held the sword up like that was your only tactic and that it might actually work,” he remarks, raising the tip of his to motion to me. “Youshouldhave deflected my blade, butalsohad your other hand ready to grab one of the smaller blades on your chest to stab me in the thigh with.”