Page 161 of Storm Caller

Neither of my parents responds to that.

“I need to leave,” I say. “Thank you for taking care of me, but I have to find Rook.”

My father glances up. “Where will you go?” he asks. It almost sounds like he’s concerned.

I plan to head to the Fog, but I can’t tell him that.

I think he suspects that I’m keeping things from him.

“Do you know where Rook is?” I ask, choosing to deflect his question.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t.”

“Then his family will help me. When we find the cure, they’ll take it back to the Tiera Frais. This information should never have been kept a secret.” I scoot to the edge of the bed. “General Sol said she needed me, but I think she was lying. She obviously wants something, and I need to understand what.” I inhale a sharp breath. “I started this, and now I have to finish it. I won’t leave Rook in their hands.”

“There will be nothing left for you here,” my father says, his voice uncharacteristically raw with emotion.

I swallow over the swelling knot in my throat. “I know.”

“Poet,” my mother whispers, tears filling her eyes. “You can’t do this. I can’t lose you, too.”

I told myself I could never leave her.

She’ll have my father, which isn’t saying much, but I don’t think I have a choice.

At least we had this last moment together. It has to be enough.

“I’m sorry. But this is so much bigger than me now.”

I swing my feet to the floor and push myself up to discover that my knees are still a little loose.

My father stands from his seat, stretching himself to his full height. “I could stop you from leaving.”

I lift my chin, throwing my shoulders back. “I suppose you could.”

We watch each other, the silence stretching into infinite space.

Maybe in that moment, we both understand that I’m no longer his daughter, born of his flesh and blood, his to be manipulated and used in whatever way he sees fit.

Somewhere along the way, he forced me to become my own person.

Forged from the ashes of his anger, I became someone else.

Someone different from him.

Someone I can face when I look in the mirror.

Someone I’m trying to be proud of.

When he doesn’t move, I head for the door.

“Will we see you again?” my mother asks, her voice fading to a pained whisper.

I walk over and kiss her on the cheek, then glance at my father, who watches us both with an expression I’ll never understand.

“I truly don’t know, Mom. If not, please take care of yourself.”

And then I’m gone.