The Final Strife
Page 131
Her hands slipped into the curls of his hair. She felt a pang of jealousy.
The curls were longer than hers.
—
Dawn split the sky in two, cracking the dark of night with the yolk of the morning sun. Sylah woke to the smell of coffee beans roasting, but when she looked up, Jond was nowhere to be seen. There was a note on the counter next to a mug of coffee.
Gone out, stay as long as you like. Look forward to the delivery tomorrow.
“Delivery?” she asked herself. “Oh, the journals.”
Tonight. They’d sneak into the library tonight.
Sylah stared at Jond’s tight, neat handwriting. There was so much she wanted to know about the six years they’d been apart.
What didyou do in that time? The voice in her mind sneered. She was making up for it. She would prove herself to the Sandstorm, to Jond. Then he could tell her everything.
A yawn cracked her jaw. From the fatigue in her bones, she knew she’d only slept a handful of strikes. She took a gulp of the coffee and winced. It was cold.
“Time to get back to it.”
Sylah began to search for her clothes.