Page 79 of Anomalies

Iwake up to the smell of coffee, wrapped in sheets that feel like heaven.

My thighs are stiff, my head throbs, and my burnt palms scrape against the quilt from where the gauze must have slipped in the night. I reach for the glass of water I set on the nightstand, finding a steaming cup of coffee sitting next to it.

I stare at it for a moment.

It’s just a cup of coffee, but it’s the intention behind it that makes me pause. Gods, I hadn’t realized how low my standards were.

I take it with me to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I’ve looked…worse? My cheeks are hanging onto their color, despite all the smoke I inhaled, and there isn’t much evidence of exhaustion underneath my eyes. I’d gotten decent sleep—the first night in weeks that I wasn’t tormented by my Velkan and his memories.

I grab my coffee and slip out into the hall. The door to the bedroom doesn’t even creak as I open it, but the hardwoods do.

The cabin is quiet. I peer out into the living room, heat flooding my cheeks when I spot the empty couch still out of place from where Callan had dragged it up to the coffee table. The memory floods back to me violently—the soft-spoken words, the river of Sol Marks across his torso, the way his hands felt in my hair⁠—

I rip my gaze away. It’s too early for this.

Or at least I think it is, if the birds chirping outside are any indication. I’ll kill him if he let me sleep through breakfast.

I hear voices on the porch, and the creak of a rocking chair has me backing up into the hall. The caffeine hasn’t hit my bloodstream yet, and I’m not ready to face the consequences of my actions.

My eyes snag on the door opposite the bedroom. It’s cracked, and for a moment I hesitate. This isn’t my place, and these aren’t my things.

My hip bumps the door open.

Oops.

Bright light streams across my feet as I step inside. The curtains are fully drawn, revealing a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the dense green forestry behind the cabin. The room is set up as an office—a round table in the center with six chairs around it. The wooden surface is littered with paper and various leather-bound books and journals.

Naturally, I sink into the tallest of the six chairs, its back facing the window. The leather armrests are worn, and a rain-soaked cedar scent clings to the fabric.

My eyes dart to the door, and when a few silent seconds pass, I turn my attention to the endless pile of papers before me.

There’s a blueprint of a mineshaft on top with feminine handwriting scribbled in the margins. My eyes scan some of the comments:

Entry clearance is too low here.

This wall isn’t safe to cross under.

This won’t work; everything will collapse.

My brows rise as I take another sip of coffee, then I go to set it down on the table⁠—

“Shit,” I curse when the edge of the mug slips, hot coffee splashing onto the hardwood. “Shit, shit, shit.” I abandon the blueprint, tiptoe out into the hall, and I’m back in the office a heartbeat later with an armful of kitchen towels.

I drop to my knees, coaxing the hot liquid into the scrunched fabric, then I search the ground for my mug.

Where are you…where are you—there you are! I crawl over to where it lies across some papers that have fallen to the ground, the tabletop having reached capacity. My fingers grip the handle, peeling away a letter that clings to the sticky side of it⁠—

My heart stops beating. The door to the office creaks open.

No.

“Are you snooping?” Callan drawls from the doorway, and I stand slowly, my hands trembling. “And what’s with all the towels—” His eyes drop to the crumbled paper I’m holding, and the silence that falls is deafening. “Fuck.”

My letter.

Ivy and Jude’s letter.

He never took it.