“I do not know that.”
“Then consider it an experiment.” I don’t look at him. Can’t. “Go be a king. Do your duty. I’ll be here when you get back. Because I literally can’t leave.”
I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice.
He’s quiet for a long moment. I can feel him watching me. Deciding.
“Very well,” he finally says. “But I will return to check on you. Frequently.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
His footsteps cross to the door. Pause.
“For what it is worth,” he says quietly. “You are not a replacement.”
The door closes before I can respond.
I lie back. Close my eyes.
Try to believe him.
Fail.
The radiator clanks.
Voices murmur from somewhere deeper in the safe house.
And I’m alone with the echoes of what I let myself believe could be real.
His fingers in my hair. His mouth on mine. The way his hands felt on me for those few brief moments when I let myself think that I was important to him.
All of it colored by the knowledge that he was thinking of someone else.
Someone who mattered.
Someone who wasn’t me.
I pull the thin blanket over myself.
Try to sleep.
And try to ignore the way my chest aches with a pain that has nothing to do with injuries or magical bonds.
Try to ignore the truth I can’t escape.
I’m just plain Mara Jones.
And the ghost he’s in love with will always matter more.
Chapter 25
Mara
I’m staring at the ceiling—counting water stains because it’s better than thinking—when someone knocks. It’s brisk. Efficient. The knock of someone who has places to be but is making time anyway.
“Come in,” I call.
Nadia pushes through the door carrying a tray. Real food. Soup that smells like actual vegetables, bread that looks homemade.
