Chapter twenty-five

It took a couple days before Phoebe was ready to admit that Connor wasn't coming back.

At first, she wasn't sure what to do with herself. Stunned and hurt that Rue had left without saying goodbye, Phoebe spent the rest of the first day wandering. First, she combed every nook and cranny of Ardent, poking her head into every secret hiding spot that she and Connor had discovered over the years, just in case. Once she'd covered the compound, she took to the forest. She stepped carefully through the foliage and over roots and fallen branches, taking the extra time to scan her surroundings with more attention than she usually did. As she walked, Phoebe heard Rue's words echoing in her mind.

You need to start thinking for yourself, Pheebs.

"Well, I definitely don't believe Connor teamed up with the Starborn," she muttered under her breath as she crouched down to peer into an old hollow tree she and her cousin had come across many years ago. She was disappointed to find it empty of anything other than a spider hard at work on an intricate web. "I don't care what Dad says — he wouldn't just leave."

Eventually, Phoebe's wanderings led her back to the small cottage behind her house. She hesitated and took a moment to work up her courage before approaching it. Maybe, if she believed hard enough, she would open the door to find her cousin inside, curled up on his small bed and sleeping off the night he'd spent hiding out in the woods. To Phoebe, that was the only thing that actually made sense. She pictured Connor tucked away in the trees, watching the search party scramble past him in the dark as he waited for the heat to die down. Phoebe imagined him creeping back home in the early light of day, where he could get some rest and think about what he would say to mitigate as much of the trouble that was no doubt waiting for him once he showed his face again.

But once she finally willed herself to open the door, Phoebe's heart sank: the inside of the cottage looked exactly the same as it had last night.

"It's fine," she said aloud to no one in particular. "He's probably still laying low somewhere. I don't blame him. I'm sure he'll be back soon."

She decided to keep herself busy by making sure that the cottage was nice and tidy for Connor when he returned. She spent the rest of the day's dwindling light dusting and sweeping the modest room. She cleaned the ash from the woodstove and wiped down the windows. Once the sun set, she lit a fire and put the kettle on to boil while she waited on the neatly made bed.

Phoebe didn't intend to spend that night in the cottage, and she was disoriented when she woke the following morning cold and still alone.

That's when the fear began creeping in. All the certainty she'd felt the day before about Connor simply biding his time until it was safe to reemerge was gradually edged out by worry. What if she'd been right in thinking that Connor was in danger? What if she was wasting precious time sitting there, waiting for him to return when really what he needed was to be rescued? The idea that her beloved cousin might need help sent Phoebe spiraling into a pit of self-loathing. What could she do? In all her sixteen years, she'd never ventured farther than the woods that surrounded Ardent. Anxiety bloomed in her chest at the thought of forging out on her own in search of him. She wouldn't even know where to start looking, let alone what to do once she got there.

As she sat on the edge of the bed and gnawed fretfully on her thumbnail, Phoebe's eyes combed the cottage for a clue. Surely she had missed something: a note tucked surreptitiously under a jar of oats or in the folds of Connor's spare shirt. Instead, her gaze gravitated to the dishes on the shelf, and she remembered the second, dirtied set that she had hastily hidden from her father.

Phoebe got to her feet and shuffled to the shelf. She picked up the dirty dishes and turned them over slowly in the morning sunlight that streamed through the window. But if there was a clue hidden somewhere in the hardened food residue that coated the dishes and cutlery, Phoebe didn't see it. The only thing that stood out about them was the same thing that had alarmed her in the first place: the fact that there were two sets.

Frowning, Phoebe tried to imagine a scenario in which Connor had been forced to feed his visitor against his will, as if he was some helpless hostage held at the mercy of his captor. But that didn't make sense. Connor was probably the strongest person in the world — surely he would have at least put up a fight, right? And besides, there were two sets of dishes, which meant the meal had been shared.

There was something ugly taking root in Phoebe's heart. The longer she stared at the grimy fork in her hand, the deeper she felt the roots burrow into her. For the first time, she finally let herself consider what she'd tried so hard to deny: maybe Connor really had left of his own free will after all.

Maybe this mysterious stranger had come bearing the opportunity to escape, and Connor had been all too happy to take her up on it. Phoebe couldn't really blame him for wanting to leave, but the idea that he would actually go through with it without telling her felt like a punch in the face. After everything they'd been through together, didn't she at least deserve a goodbye? How could he leave her behind to worry about him like this?

It was almost shocking how quickly the bitterness took hold of her. Suddenly, every other possible scenario seemed weak and naive. She felt stupid for believing anything else. Worse, she felt like a fool for standing up for him. If it had really been that easy for him to abandon her there, maybe she didn't know him as well as she thought.

The sting of betrayal cut Phoebe like a knife. She blinked and was surprised to find she was crying, which only made her angrier. With a wild cry, she hurled the fork across the cottage with such force that it pierced the wood of the opposite wall and stuck there like a dart.

"Phoebe?" The sound of her father's voice made Phoebe jump. She hurried to wipe the tears from her eyes as the cottage door creaked open. Her father peered at her, his expression curious. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Phoebe answered instinctively, folding her arms tightly so he wouldn't see how badly she trembled.

Her father sniffed as he stepped inside. "Care to try answering that question again? Honestly this time, please."

With her bottom lip quivering, Phoebe let out a shaky breath. "I don't think he's coming back," she muttered quietly. "I didn't want to believe he would just bail on me, y'know? But now..." The tears spilled shamelessly down her cheeks as a sob escaped her throat. "I just feel so stupid!"

Unable to stop herself, Phoebe broke down and wept like a child. Her father clicked his tongue and pulled her into an embrace, and Phoebe let herself melt into the comfort of being held.

"I know, sweetheart. I know it hurts," her father cooed softly.

"I thought he was my friend," Phoebe choked between sobs while her father patter her back gently.

"While I'm glad to see you come to your senses, I'm sorry it had to be like this," he said, smoothing this daughter's hair the way he did when she was little. "These last few days have been quite hard on you, haven't they?"

Phoebe's heart swelled. It was such a profound relief to have her hurt acknowledged. She nodded meekly.

Her father hummed thoughtfully. "Your mother and I were talking, and we think you could use a break."

"A break from what?"

With his hands on her shoulders, Phoebe's father pushed her back so he could look into her eyes. "From Ardent. A change of scenery to clear your head."

A thrill raced up Phoebe's spine, though she couldn't quite tell if it was one of excitement or fear. Was her father actually suggesting that she leave the commune? "But I thought we weren't supposed to leave the forest?"

"Normally that would be the case. But this would be a special exception."

Phoebe hesitated, shifting against a sense of rising unease. "What do you mean?"

Her father smiled, his eyes glinting. "We've arranged for you to spend a couple of months with some friends in the Loyal community," he said. "They've agreed to take you under their wing while you're there. Think of it as an opportunity to expand your spiritual studies."

"You're sending me to the Loyals?" Phoebe balked with disbelief. "The same people I've literally heard you call 'fanatical extremists who delight in perverting the will of the Stars'?"

A dark look flitted across her father's expression as he drew himself up tall and rigid. "And I stand by it. However, I can think of no one better to help you understand how dangerous Wishes are. I always hoped that my teachings would be enough to guide you, but you chose to trust that boy over your own family."

"Dad, that's not—"

He shut her down with a wave of his hand. "Now that he's gone and you're free from his influence, I think you might finally be ready to listen to what I've been trying to tell you. And, who knows — perhaps once you've seen how the rest of the world lives, you'll come to appreciate just how good you have it here with us."

This isn't a break, Phoebe thought miserably, it's just another punishment. She dropped her gaze to the worn wood of the cottage floor so that her father couldn't see the hurt in her eyes. "I guess I don't get a say in any of this, do I?"

As if she'd just told a clever little joke, her father laughed. He turned away from her and paused at the door before exiting.

"It's for your own good, Phoebe," he said with unmistakable finality. "You leave in the morning, so I suggest you start packing."