It’s oddly familiar. Yet, I can’t understand why.
It’s not Jax—the person is too petite. A woman’s shape.
The rushing water dulls in the background. I only realize how far I’ve run once it’s gone. Panting, I pause and look around. Gods damn it. I’m in the middle of the thicket.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
The figure pauses ahead of me, too. I frown, watching its every move. I grip my blades hard enough my knuckles turn white.
I left my damn bow at the campsite.
The forest is silent still. Time stretches. Finally, the figure turns around to face me. We’re far enough apart that it’s hard for me to make out their face.
But I could recognize her anywhere.
My heart tumbles out of my chest.
“Fane?” My voice is unsteady.
For a moment, she does nothing.
This can’t be.
She’s…dead.
But then a familiar voice calls, “Phoenix? Is that you?”
My world tilts. With wobbling knees, I force my feet to move forward. Fane starts towards me, too.
It’s her.
It’s truly her.
My eyes, my face, my hair.
It’s like looking in the mirror.
A sob escapes me. I slam a hand over my mouth.
No. This can’t be real.
“Phoenix,” she says and then laughs.
Before I know it, her arms are around me. For a heartbeat, I’m frozen. But once the familiar scent of rosemary and citrus fills my senses, I break out of it and embrace my sister.
“No way,” I cry into her shoulder. “Fane…How—you—the fire?—”
Through sobbing, I can’t speak. Fane hugs me tighter and soothes me. “It’s okay, Nix. Breathe. Since when are you such a wet blanket?”
I choke out a laugh at her words. When I can finally breathe and speak, I pull away to look at her again.
“I can’t believe it’s you,” I say, voice hoarse.
I run a hand through her hair, silky smooth. Her tanned skin. I used to be just as tanned back when I spent my days under the Wetran sun. Her shoulders are sturdy.
She’s real.
I see her.
