“Come on,” Jason said, and when she didn’t respond, he slid his hand under her elbow and guided her out to the car.
The scenery flashed by, an endless film of dry yellowed grass against a background of brilliant blue sky. It was familiar, back in her beloved Africa. She was home, but she felt oddly out of place.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Jason asked, his voice even and conversational.
Allyra ignored him, her eyes fixed on the unchanging landscape.
“Are you really just going to ignore me? It’s going to get pretty tedious—by my estimate, we are stuck together for another eight hours.”
And when she still didn’t answer, he said, “Sulking is both childish and idiotic and utterly pointless. If you don’t want to talk, then I’ll have to fill the silence, and I’m not sure you’re going to enjoy my monologue on the impact of modern technology on the human psyche.”
“Her name was Jessie Whitmore,” Allyra said, her voice unemotional. “She was getting married but wanted one last adventure, a final dance with freedom. Given her proud British naval heritage, she chose to sail single-handedly around the world with the side benefit of raising money for cancer research. A week ago, as she neared the end of her journey, a freak storm engulfed the deadly Southern Seas. Her family lost contact with her, and while they held out hope, pieces of her boat were recovered over the past few days by search boats, and today, they recovered her broken body.”
The silence fell thick and heavy between them, broken only by the rumble of the car engine.
“And now you’re going to wallow in guilt because you somehow think it’s your fault.”
She turned to him, utterly stricken. “It is my fault—a freak storm a week ago? That’s undeniable timing, exactly when I created a terrible storm just to save my own life.”
“Don’t you mean save my life?” Jason asked quietly.
“Does it matter? Are we really going to argue semantics? I used my Gift with no thought of the consequences. No one life is worth more than another.”
“You did what you had to do.”
“Really? Is that all you have to say?” Allyra replied, incredulous.
“You said it yourself, the Southern Seas are deadly. How do you know Jessie Whitmore wouldn’t have died anyway? You’re giving yourself way too much credit.”
Allyra let out a harsh laugh. “Weren’t you the one telling me to embrace my Gift? To give in to the power of it? And now suddenly you’re telling me that it wasn’t me after all.”
“People die every day, Allyra.”
“And you’re a bastard.”
Jason shrugged carelessly. “You always knew exactly what I was. I won’t apologize for it.”
Allyra turned back to the passing view, a lump in her throat that she just couldn’t swallow.
Chapter 35 – Allyra
Allyra woke up in an unfamiliar bed. The pillow was soft beneath her cheek and smelled faintly of oceans and autumn fires—Jason. The room was bathed in the gentle pink light of dawn, and she ran her fingers along the wooden wall. It was warm beneath her touch but rough, as if sanded down by hand. The wooden planks were different colors, and different ages, each one carefully chosen for length and fit and then lovingly put together.
The sound of sizzling bacon was enough for her to brave the cool winter air beyond the warmth of her blankets. There was a single metal rod at the other end of the room with a choice of clothes hanging from it. She pulled an oversized red plaid shirt on and followed the sound of the cooking bacon.
Jason was standing over an old wood-fired stove—the very picture of domesticity. She’d seen him dressed for combat and survival, but this was the first time she’d ever seen him in clothes of his own choosing. Faded jeans hung low on his hips over a pair of well-worn leather boots. A thick woolen jersey completed his ensemble.
“I hope you don’t mind my borrowing your clothes, but I can’t seem to find any of my own,” Allyra quipped, picking up a piece of crispy bacon and snapping it into two pieces.
Jason raised his eyebrows at her bare legs and pointed out a bag set on an old but comfortable-looking couch. “I think you’ll find what you need in there, and breakfast will be ready in ten minutes unless you finish it all.”
“Where are we?” she asked.
“My humble abode.”
“Not quite the bachelor pad I imagined.”
He shot her a hard look and put down a plate loaded with eggs, bacon, and toast in front of her. “Eat up. We need to get back to training.”
She raised her eyebrows at him. “You know I barely survived my last brush with death.”
“So?”
“So, don’t you think some recovery time is in order?”
He pursed his lips and shot her a look that said you’re joking, right?
She sighed and took a bite of toast. She might as well eat while she could, there was no arguing with Jason when he was in this mood—all business and focused on winning.
Jason’s wooden cabin was nestled on the side of a steep mountain above the tree line. The mountain stretched a little taller behind it, but Jason led her down into the pine forest. They hiked over pine needles under the shadows of the surrounding trees, the air hanging fresh and damp around them. Eventually, they arrived at a small clearing, fenced on three edges with thick forest and on one edge—a sharp, rocky cliff.
The clearing was filled with a training course, all expertly handcrafted from wood. It appeared to be an ongoing project spanning many years—some of it looked new and freshly made, perhaps only a few months old, while parts of it were made from wood grayed
