Her Narcissus and Sage scent cocoons me as Ryan slips from the room. Apparently, my energy depletion eliminates the immediate need for supervision.

“You stuck around?”

“Someone had to give you the play by play. A heroine’s work is never done.”

I lift a brow. “Elaborate.”

“They’re seeing how fast Derry can get you a passport.”

“Legit one?”

Her lashes flutter. “Plausible deniability.”

“Why are they rushing it?”

She gives me a did-you-really-just-ask-that look.

“Ryan feigned support to placate me. Unbelievable!” I roar, giving the Sentry some healthy competition in the scary sounds department. The increased volume is a punch clock whistle, setting a tiny construction crew to work in my head.

“They figure your vacation should come soonish.” She tips her head to the side. “You’ve got this gross pulsing vein in your temple.”

My left eye twitches. “Why don’t you do something useful with your pestering skills and tell them where to stow their plotting.” She isn’t ready to forgive them. She isn’t even ready to let them defend themselves. She may never be, but telling them off is well within her comfort zone. Plus, it’ll stop her harassment.

“Can’t do it, Toastercake.”

“Why not?”

“Ryan’s right. You need a little separation from this.”

“Derry won’t agree, anyway. He was firmly against it earlier.”

“It was his idea.”

Guess someone’s going through hammer withdrawal. I’ll deal with Sledge later. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“The side I’m on heard you hitting the wall.” She shudders. “I found you unconscious with your flailing mom ripping out every wire and tube binding her to this earth. If we’re getting her back, we need to be smarter.”

We? You know what? Maybe just this once, I’ll concede that sharing is caring. “More watchful waiting.”

“You need to step back even further than watchful waiting,” she presses.

I’m not disputing reprioritization is in order, but leaving puts Mom at risk. “I can’t leave her like this.”

“This could help her,” she volleys, “and give you insight you won’t get here.”

“They don’t need me bodily present to share information. That’s what the red menace in my pocket is for.”

“If you stay here, will you keep your distance?”

She’s right. I won’t be able to stop myself from feeding her, and until I find a way to filter the output, my efforts could cause further damage.

“You’re coming with me, right?”

While one emotionally charged conversation doesn’t make her my best friend forever, I need her negativity to neutralize their excessive positivity. She’s my wild card. Her propriety switch is defective. She’ll shoot straight whether I want the truth or not. Correction: she’ll rapid-fire the truth if I don’t want it.

“You’re a special kind of stupid, aren’t you?”

“I need you for balance,” I admit.

“Forget it. I only enjoy watching your dumpster fire from upwind.”

Her refusal has nothing to do with stepping back from the action. She loves the action. It’s due to our travel companions, namely Barry. “You can’t avoid him indefinitely.”

She huffs.

I stare blanks.

“If he stays behind, I’ll go.”

“Steep price.”

She flips her hair over her shoulders. “My going is already a huge give on my part. I’m not offering handouts.”

I rub my throbbing temples. “No one’s asking you to give anything.”

“You don’t think they expect that from me?”

“I think your horse has a lame leg. You’d be wise to get off before you both come crashing down.”

“My high horse?” She scoffs. “Seriously, is there a waiver I should sign? Your proximity is dangerous for my brain cells. Idiocy via osmosis. You sure you’re not of water?”

I sigh.

She meets my sigh with one twice as dramatic. “Look, if you’re all going on a vacation, someone has to stay with her.”

I flinch. She poked my sorest spot, her trademark move. While I’m certain Tally’s clutching the babysitting as an excuse, that poke was solid. Bright side: she’ll take good care of Mom.

“Why would you do that?”

“I owed you one,” she reminds me. “We’re even now.”

“We’ll never be even.”

“That’s likely true, what with my valiant steed being so out of reach and all.”

“Thank you.”

“Just don’t tell anyone.”

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Heh, we don’t want anyone discovering you have a heart.”

“That’s what I like about you, Ash-hat. You always see things my way.”

Derry’s arrival has her bailing. Staying in the room with him exceeds her tolerance threshold. At least she didn’t physically assault him, just threw a few mental jabs. That’s a start. I doubt the same will hold true for Barry if the opportunity presents itself.

Derry wraps me in his arms. “She’ll forgive him eventually.”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

He chuckles.

“For real, don’t hold it. I like the way it feels on my skin.”

I inhale deeply, the tiny construction workers taking a well-earned break, prompted by comforting Morning Glories and Sunshine. His scent is so ingrained that it surpasses even my expunged fire fuel limitations.

“Temperature check?”

“I’m cool.” It’s not a lie for once. I’m totally wiped.

“Are we going to discuss you acting impulsively?”

I glower. “Are we going to discuss you acting possessively?”

He sighs. “Message received.”

I nuzzle into his neck. Mmm. A warm Derry compress. How can I get us even closer?

He peels his arms off me. “Your mind has a single track.”

“Would you rather I steer my train toward reviving Mom?”

He sweeps a stray auburn lock from my face. “Please stop wearing yourself so thin. I hate the idea of anything bad happening to you.”

“That’s contradictory.” I slide my hands up his arms, goosebumps forming where I touch. “My fire fuel demands release.”

I get where he’s coming from, but from my perspective, continued compression is more likely to incite a flame-induced misfortune than contained release. If I don’t expel my fire fuel, we’ll have a Class C fire, indexing at 200 on the flame spread range. Yeah, a guaranteed bad time.

“This is calculated containment.”

I wind my hands through his unruly bronze waves and force his lips to mine.

“Not here,” he grouses. “Not now.”

“Where?” My lips trail kisses across his cheek, pausing by his ear. “When?”

“When it’s safe.” His fists clench at my lower back. “Before you ask, I don’t know when it’ll be safe.”

“Ask Mel.”

“That’s one of the issues with her gift.” He blows out a relieved breath after I step away from him. “Carved statues are easy to misinterpret.”

“Did she see my depletion? Did she dream it?”

He shakes his head.

“Did you ask her?”

“She’d have told me if she had.” His brow furrows. “Most of what she’s seen has already happened. Perfect timing is tricky. That’s what went wrong with Tally. She saw the aftermath of her transition, which we failed to prevent. We were too late.”

“She assumes you willfully sent her family to be slaughtered.”

“Of course not.” He grabs my cheeks, forcing eye contact. “I won’t lie to you. What they did to her, I can’t say they didn’t have it coming. She was in emotional distress even before the transition.”

I grimace. “Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

“No, but two negatives do make a positive.”

My groan over his lameness has him smiling, causing sparks to heat my cheeks where he holds them. As if fearing my flame, he releases me. I can’t literally burn him, can I? Is he suddenly scared of me?

“Never of you,” he assures me. “For you, definitely.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t need coddling.”

“I know. I’m just ensuring you don’t overdo it. If left to your own devices, you’d hand off everything.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“If you don’t hold something back, how will you continue helping people?”

I frown. “To be determined.”

“I’m not trying to stop you from helping, but I will not be the straw that breaks your camel’s back.”

I wince as the tiny construction workers start hammering again.

“You’ve had another long day.”

“It’s not over. Thanks to a bunch of bulldozers, I have to convince my father to let me go on a pre-graduation vacation.”

“Oh, he’ll let you go. Keeping him from chaperoning will be the hard part.”

“Speaking of, I’ve got some good ideas for spending our unchaperoned time,” I throw in.

He kisses me chastely on the forehead.

The drive should be filled with flirtatious comments and some soft petting. It’s not. It’s really, really not. Derry has dissimilar ideas for our time alone, ideas I don’t like. He wants to discuss education and not in a fun, hands-on learning way. Not cool. I spend the majority of the drive shoving fast food in my mouth, ignoring his probing questions. It isn’t cake, but it’s delicious.

Things don’t get much better when we arrive at my house. Dad, who’s basically a table fixture, is in his recliner. No paper in his hands, just a remote control. Okay, try not to judge me too harshly here. He deserves to be comfortable, but this is next level strange. To make matters worse, there’s no disapproving scowl. He’s sitting back, relaxing, while I petition.

“I’d only miss a few days of school.”

“It’s too late in the year to be missing days.”

“It’ll give me a nice break from pre-final stress,” I add. “That way, my head will be clear to focus on my studies.”

He snorts derisively.

How do I debate my case? While he isn’t openly refusing, he hasn’t consented, either. Derry isn’t any help. He’s fidgeting on the couch. Something’s weirding him out. What’s my father thinking?

“I don’t actually need your permission.”

He lifts a brow. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have asked me.”

Point to you, Dad. I’m not any good at father/daughter role-playing. Neither is he. He can’t arbitrarily agree. I have to offer a valid argument appeasing his sense of parental obligation.

“Why don’t you just tell me why you really want to go?”

I can’t tell him the truth. Exposing the Solathair secret has recruitment or recycling consequences. He needs to stay safely in his blissfully ignorant bubble for now. Maybe forever. He’s barely surviving the human experience free of emotional manipulation. Anything more will drive him over the edge, and I don’t have any free arms to catch him.

My problematic eye twitches. “I’m not sure how you’ll react.”

I jump when his feet bang on the floor, where he retracted the recliner…aggressively. “Now you have my undivided attention.”

“It’s about Mom.”

Derry’s squirming instantly ceases. I’m not following the plan. He wanted me to lie and tell Dad we were touring universities.

Trust me, I project.

He squeezes my hand supportively. I don’t miss the tightening of his jaw. He might trust me, but he’s still nervous.

“I want to research potential coma cures for atypical types. There’s a place in South America to facilitate that.”

Dad eyes me warily. “It won’t change anything.”

If I could forge a blade from sentiment, I’d stab him in his thick head. “Faulty assumption.”

“We’re coming to the end of a very long journey.” His words are shaky. “It’s natural to feel regret. We haven’t properly grieved. I doubt we will until it’s over.”

He’s given up. I don’t blame him, but I have information he doesn’t. He has no idea how close I am to our dream coming true.

“You can’t use your fancy internet research? You need to go across the world?”

“It’s not across the world.”

“It’s a whole different world than you’re used to.”

Another point to you, Dad. “It’s the chance to collaborate with professionals experienced in this field.”

He leans back in the recliner, yanking the lever to lift the footrest. Seems he’s ready to relax again. Aggressively. I brace for the imminent refusal.

“You tagging along, Derry?” He isn’t looking at us. His attention is on the home improvement show splayed out in high definition.

“Yes, Sir,” Derry replies respectfully.

“Sheyla, why don’t you go on up to your room?”

A familiar knot forms in my throat, choking me. I try, unsuccessfully, to swallow it back down.

Derry gives my hand another reassuring squeeze. It’s my turn to trust him. He isn’t shaking in the slightest. Will Dad threaten, thank, or kick him abruptly out the door? His expression is unreadable. The only thing keeping me from begging to stay is Derry’s eerie calm.

I begrudgingly extricate myself from the couch and head for the stairs. Do I want to eavesdrop in the stairwell? Not particularly. It’s best I leave them to it. If Dad says something mean, I’ll end up charging back down and causing a scene. Derry can stand on his own two feet. Mine are beyond tired.

I walk over to my dresser, pull out the first thing that touches my fingers suitable for sleeping, and change. I skulk into bed and slide under the covers, tapping my foot impatiently as I wait. Generally, Supermom offers me support, but she’s maintaining the communication embargo. Right now, I don’t mind. The last thing I want is a salty comment.

Hearing the front door slam, I take my lip between my teeth. Dad went the kicking route. Despite the small concession of no yelling, I’m ridiculously disappointed. Shouldn’t Derry have at least forced his way through Dad’s parental blockade to tell me goodnight? That’s what I get for yoinking his hammer.

I rub my eyes on the blanket now pulled up to my forehead. The prospect of spending the night alone makes me miserable, and I can’t stop myself from crying.