“I don’t have time. My father needs—”
“He isn’t here!” Her voice cracked, urgent. “We’re not on your home world. We’re in the Games. What you’re seeing isn’t real.”
Games. The word slid past him, meaningless.
Then a small weight hit his back. He spun, ready to tear the intruder away—but the voice was right beside his ear.
“Close your eyes,” Mara said softly. “Listen to me.”
Against every instinct screaming at him to fight, Vaelor inhaled. Exhaled. The battlefield wavered.
“This is an illusion,” she continued. “The Galactic Survivor Games. You’re safe. I need you here.”
The truth settled slowly, painfully. His father survived that day. Had lived long after. Had passed into the afterlife years ago.
Vaelor opened his eyes.
The ice returned. The cold. The mirrors.
And Mara—real, breathing, clinging to him.
“I understand,” he said quietly. “If our eyes can’t be trusted, how do we move forward?”
Mara met his gaze, determination burning through the fear.
“I have an idea.”
Chapter 11
Mara
Mara felt like a fish out of water, sliding and slipping. She would have fallen if it had not been for Vaelor. He took her hand and steadied her.
“Thank you, Vaelor.”
He didn’t say anything back but moved them forward. Somehow, it got darker. How was that possible? Sounds of screaming filled the air with ominous foreboding. Something or someone bumped into her from behind. It jostled her and she lost grip of Vaelor.
“Vaelor? Where are you?”
Suddenly it was so bright her eyes hurt. Then she found herself in New York. In a little town barely getting by. There was a small diner on the corner. She entered and took a seat in one of the booths.
A frazzled waitress stepped up to the table but didn’t look at her.
“What can I get you?”
“Coffee and a grilled cheese sandwich.”
The waitress moved away to place her order. She didn’t even look back. But Mara couldn’t take her eyes off of the woman.
She had the same blond hair, pale skin, and blue eyes. Well, there were more streaks mixed with the blond, wrinkles marred her otherwise pretty face. And the eyes held signs of age and tiredness. She was the older version of what Mara would possibly one day look like. Because the woman was her mother—and she hadn’t ever met her before.
Her mother left her and her father when she was just a baby. She had only seen pictures but always wondered what the woman who gave birth to her would be like. As a child, sheimagined that her mother had witnessed a serious crime and was forced to leave her family to protect them.
She also wondered if there had been something wrong with her. Maybe she wanted a son instead of a daughter. Mara asked her father so many questions. He was patient and kind though now as an adult, she knew it must have been heartbreaking to him. She stopped asking him and he seemed relieved.
But that didn’t mean that Mara stopped trying to find the answers. She hired a private investigator to help her track down her missing mother. So here she was.
The waitress, her mother, brought the coffee cup and a pot of coffee to the table. She noticed the nametag read Valorie. That wasn’t her real name. Her real name was Mary Walter Sinclair.
