Page 104 of Anomalies

“Kimber,” I exhale, and even the feeling of the breath leaving my lungs feels new and different. “No offense, but what if I didn’t want to see things like you do? I don’t have the stomach to see dead people today.”

She yanks the sucker back out of her mouth and points it to the tree line. “You see him?”

My eyes dart in the direction she points. “No…”

“Then I didn’t give you enough to see dead people.” She resumes the casual swinging of her legs, and nausea rolls in my stomach. “You’re welcome.”

We’re nearly thirty feet from the ground, hanging off the side of the Diviner enclave in the trees while Pax and Hunter are inside talking to Pa, trying to get information on a topic that I can hardly think about without spiraling.

Callan hasn’t come home.

None of them have.

When one week passed, we weren’t worried; we just assumed they’d been caught up in the storm and had to wait it out. But then another week passed, and now it’s been sixteen days. Something doesn’t feel right. Hunter and Pax feel it too.

It’s pathetic to be so devastated by the mere thought of something having happened to him, but there is no logic involved in the way I feel. I just hadn’t realized how much space he took up until he was gone. I hadn’t realized how safe I felt until he wasn’t here to provide that protection. I guess somehow, I created this notion of Callan in my head that he was invincible, and that nothing could hurt him. When he said he’d come back, I believed him wholeheartedly, and I still do.

If he could be here right now, he would be, and that’s what scares me.

Something is preventing him from coming home, I feel it deep in my bones. I’ve always felt him that way. Even before I kissed him, and even before heavier emotions got involved. I admire him as a friend and a mentor and a person, because underneath it all—the armor and the weapons, and buried beneath the magic and power and strength, there’s a stunning version of him that I miss more than I thought I would.

And I’m afraid if he doesn’t come back, I’ll miss him for the rest of my life.

I haven’t said that out loud to anyone.

“I thought you could use the distraction,” Kimber admits, leaning back on her hands. “Sometimes it helps to see things from a new perspective.”

Using the Eldral gave me a lifetime of new perspectives, but I can’t tell her that. I promised her and her grandfather I wouldn’t use it. And I don’t plan to… ever again. “I’ve kept myself busy.”

“I know,” Kimber sighs. “You’re the one now with your head in a book for every meal now, and when you aren’t busying your brain, you’re exerting yourself physically.” She takes a deep breath, avoiding eye contact. “Selene didn’t want us to say anything, but we’re worried about you, Cin.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“I’m fine.”

All three of Kimber’s eyes narrow on me, then they follow a few passing birds. “You know, what Callan’s doing could potentially reunite over sixty-five families.”

The weight of her words settles in my chest. “I know.”

A few more birds flutter past, a blue and a red one. “If there is anything Pa can tell Pax and Hunter about his vitality, he will, but most of this Cin, will be left up to fate.”

“I don’t think I’m in good standing with Fate, Kimber.” She gives me an incredulous look. “I’m serious. Do you think it was Fate that I ended up with an Eldral?” I ask quietly, and Kimber rolls the sucker in her mouth before answering.

“If you had the Emerald, then yes."

A door creaks open, and the sound of three voices rounds the corner. My cheeks blow out when the wooden bridge sways and the tree trunks it’s tied to groan. Gods, I’ve got to get back to the ground.

“Cin,” Hunter calls, and I carefully get to my feet, the Azhrith making the bridge a bit fuzzy, but at least I’m able to see the edge clear enough to stay far from it.

“Wait!” Kimber stands, hurrying past me. “I have something for you.” She runs inside while Pax and Hunter bicker back and forth about something. Whatever it is, it can’t be good, judging by their pensive stares. When Kimber returns, she’s holding a pale-yellow envelope, the same color as her sundress. “Open it.”

My eyes narrow skeptically, but I take the envelope and pull out a worn and wrinkled⁠—

“Kimber,” I breathe, looking back at her wide-eyed.

It’s a picture of Esme. She can’t be more than twelve years old, dressed in white robes, her mass of brown hair wildly unkempt. Behind her is Sable, dressed in molten silver, a golden diadem woven into the softly curled locks of her then brunette hair. Esme is beaming ear to ear, and there is something entirely unstoppable about that smile. I wish I could have seen it in person.