Page 130 of The Immortal’s Mark

“May I sit?”

As if I could say no.

I give a small wave of my hand.

She lowers herself into the chair across from me.

I turn back toward the trees. I still haven’t forgiven her for forcing me to stay behind during the mission.

It doesn’t matter that she was right—that things could have gone terribly if one of Adir’s followers had recognized me.

I resent that she insisted. I resent even more that she placed a physical restraint on my powers. A restraint that is still present.

It’s like a dull pressure beneath my skin. A lid that is sealed tight, holding in the power I just managed to manifest.

She clears her throat. “I realized we haven’t exactly had the chance to talk much.”

I keep staring toward the distant capital. The stone buildings are pale against the hazy sky.

Her heavy sigh floats into the air.

“I’m trying, Darcie,” she says softly. “I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I don’t want you to say anything.” Finally, I turn my head and meet her gaze. “Consider your conscience clear…or whatever it is you’re trying to gain from this conversation. We’re good. Don’t worry about it.”

I turn back to the trees, focusing on steadying the slight tremor in my hand where it grips the armrest.

For a fleeting second, I think she might take the out—that she will decide I’m not worth pushing today.

Unfortunately, I’m wrong.

Jennifer Abernathy shifts in her seat, settling deeper into the cushion. She turns her face toward the view as well.

Silence descends.

But instead of suffocating, it’s almost…comfortable.

Without realizing it, I recline farther back. The sun warms my legs. The wind moves softly through the pines. For a moment, I allow myself to drift.

I’m halfway into a daydream about Greece—about what the Immortals are doing. About Des.

I thought this time apart would make things easier, but it’s the opposite. The desire to talk to him, to see him, gnaws at me almost as much as the unsettling feeling plaguing me, convincing me that danger lies on the horizon.

Danger none of us will see coming.

“I hope you have been communicating with your father,” my mother’s voice slices through the quiet, freeing me from the painful thoughts for the moment. “I wouldn’t want him to worry.”

“We text almost every day,” I reply. “He knows I’m fine.”

From the corner of my eye, I see her shoulders dip in relief. “Good.”

She seems content to return to silence.

I’m not.

The mention of my dad pries open something raw inside me.

“I’m surprised you care,” I say, the bitterness slipping free before I can stop it.