I check the attached bathroom and don’t find her behind the closed door.
Dammit. She’s supposed to be resting. Supposed to be sleeping so she’s sharp when we move.
Why can’t she just…
I head back downstairs, moving quietly so I don’t wake anyone. Cal doesn’t even stir as I pass through the kitchen. His exhaustion is bone-deep, the kind that only comes from pushing yourself past every reasonable limit.
Then I see her through the screen door leading to the back porch. Sitting on the steps, her back to me, staring out at the dark forest beyond the cabin.
I grab two bottles of water from the fridge. Push open the screen door as quietly as I can to join her.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I ask, sitting down beside her on the steps.
“Didn’t try,” she says. Her voice is flat. It’s been either monotone or full of rage since we got here.
I hand her one of the water bottles. She takes it but doesn’t open it. Just holds it in her lap.
For a while, neither of us speaks. Just sit there in the darkness, the forest silent around us except for the occasional rustle of wind through trees.
“You need to rest,” I finally say. “Tomorrow’s going to be hard. When Aria triggers the trap, we’ll need to move fast. You need to be sharp.”
“I know.”
But she doesn’t move. Doesn’t go inside.
“He wouldn’t want you running yourself into the ground for him,” I try.
“Don’t.” Her voice goes hard. “Don’t tell me what Silas would want. Don’t use him as a reason for me to stop feeling this.”
“That’s not what I’m?—”
“Yes, it is.” She finally looks at me. Her eyes are dry but exhausted. Red-rimmed. “You’re trying to logic me into taking care of myself. Trying to make it tactical. But this isn’t tactical, Jace. This is—” She stops. Looks back at the forest. “I can’t turn it off. Can’t just go to sleep and pretend I’m not terrified of what she’s doing to him.”
I don’t have an answer for that. Because she’s right.
“Do you ever just let yourself feel it anymore?” she asks.
“Feel what?”
“Pain. Fear. Grief.” She turns to look at me again. “You’re always so controlled. So measured. You weren’t always like this.”
“Someone has to be,” I say. It comes out more defensive than I intended.
“But why does it have to be you?” She shifts to face me fully now. “You don’t have to be the strong one out of all of us all the time. You don’t have to shoulder it, carry it, and force yourself left then right then left like you’re still in the force. You’re allowed to break, Jace.”
“If I break, people die,” I say flatly. “That’s how it works. Discipline keeps people alive. Control keeps people alive. The moment I let myself feel everything, the moment I stop thinking tactically, someone makes a mistake. Someone gets hurt. Someone?—”
“Dies,” she finishes. “I know. You’ve been carrying that since we met. Since you enlisted. Since you became the one everyone depends on to make the hard calls.”
She’s too close to the truth. Too close to the part of me I keep locked down.
“This isn’t about me,” I say.
“Isn’t it?” She leans forward slightly. “You think I don’t see it? The way your hands shake when you think no one’s looking? The way you’ve checked your weapons three times tonight instead of once? You’re terrified, Jace. You’re terrified we’re going to lose him.”
“Of course I’m terrified,” I say, and the words come out harsher than I mean them to. “Silas is my brother. He’s been my brother since we were kids. And I couldn’t stop this. I couldn’t prevent it. I couldn’t keep him safe.”
“Neither could I.”
