When the sun rose the following morning, Phoebe was unsurprised to find that her mood hadn't improved. She was just as irritable after her fitful night's sleep as she had been when she'd crawled into bed the night before. Her mind immediately snapped back to Rue, and her stomach knotted involuntarily. Sleep had done little to soothe the sting of Rue's words.
Outside her chamber door, Phoebe could hear the sounds of a household already in motion. Amid the scraping of chairs and clatter of dishes, her father was ranting. His voice was loud and tinged with righteous indignation. Phoebe couldn't make out what he was saying but she listened anyway, hoping to pick up on some kind of clue as to whether he'd found Connor. Not that she could tell much by his tone alone: he'd likely be angry whether he found him or not.
Eventually, Phoebe forced herself to roll out of bed. She took her time changing out of her night clothes and steeled herself with a deep, grounding breath before slipping into the hallway and padding her way to the kitchen.
"Good morning," she said from the doorway. Her parents swiveled in their seats to look at her.
"Barely," teased her mother, though Phoebe could sense an undercurrent of judgment running just beneath the surface. "It's nearly noon."
Surprised, Phoebe eyed the wall clock and saw that her mother wasn't joking. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been allowed to sleep this late. "I'm sorry! Why didn't anyone wake me up?"
"It was a long night for everyone," was her father's gruff reply. "I thought you could use a little extra rest."
Phoebe's brows shot up in disbelief. She cast a curious look at her mother, who gave a little shrug from behind her teacup.
"Well, thank you. I guess I needed it." Phoebe joined her family at the table and plucked an apple from the fruit bowl at its center. She was so unaccustomed to such thoughtfulness on her father's part that she almost didn't want to risk ruining the moment with her questions. But minding her own business had never been one Phoebe's finer traits, so after swallowing her first bite she cleared her throat and lifted her eyes to her father. "So, what happened last night? Did you find them?"
Her father stiffened and Phoebe braced herself. But instead of blowing up, he simply sniffed and took a long sip from his cup.
"No," he answered eventually. "We'll do another sweep in the daylight, but I doubt it will make a difference. I believe they're both long gone by now."
Up until that moment, Phoebe assumed her father was just being dramatic—maybe even a little paranoid—when he said that the vigilante Starborn was probably there for Connor. The fact that he apparently believed it seemed laughable to her. If Connor had somehow befriended a true Starborn, Phoebe was certain he would have told her. If Phoebe knew her cousin (and she did) he was probably just laying low until things calmed down a bit.
"Connor wouldn't just leave," Phoebe insisted. "He knows how dangerous it is."
Her father clicked his tongue. "Don't be naive, Phoebe. He's a Wish."
"So? What does that have to do with anything?"
"Everything!" Her father slammed his cup down, rattling the table and making both Phoebe and her mother jump. "Use your brain, Phoebe! Wishes are the antithesis of everything the Stars stand for. Their very existence seeks to undermine the millennia of hard work that the Stars have done in overseeing the Plan. Why wouldn't someone like that be in league with a rogue Starborn?"
Phoebe dropped her gaze to the apple in her hand. She was gripping it so tightly that her fingertips pressed into its flesh. Sweet juices trickled down her fingers and dripped onto the table, making a mess that she nervously wiped away with her sleeve. "But why would this Audrey person want to join forces with a Wish then? If she really came here for Connor, it doesn't seem like she had good intentions. What if she hurts him?"
"Then she will have done us a favor," her father replied. He spoke with unflinching conviction, and it broke Phoebe's heart. "Perhaps there's no one better to rid the world of those abominations than a Starborn."
The threat of tears stung at Phoebe's eyes, so she closed them. As she willed herself not to cry, she felt a hand wrap gently around her jaw. Frightened, her eyes snapped open to find her father staring intently back at her. His hold on her face was surprisingly tender; as if all he wanted to was to ensure they saw each other eye-to-eye when he spoke next.
"I know you think I'm a monster, Phoebe," he said softly. "I know you think the way I deal with that boy is cruel. But that's only because you've lost sight of what he really is."
"You have such a good heart, darling," her mother said in that soppy way mothers do when placating their children. "And normally that's a good thing! But when it comes to Connor, I think your big heart led you astray."
Her father nodded. "Your mother is right. The fact that you care so much is noble, but your concern is misplaced." He released Phoebe's chin and sat back with a sigh. "There's a reason I've always told you to stay away from him."
Phoebe bit her lip hard and let the pain distract her from her desire to wipe away the lingering sensation of his fingers on her jawline. "What reason is that?"
"The same reason you're not supposed to name the chickens and pigs," he replied, his tone matter-of-fact. "So you don't get attached."
Across the table, Phoebe's mother cleared her throat. "Maybe we should talk about something else for a while, hmm? Phoebe, darling, would you like some tea?" she asked, lifting the pot. She filled a fresh cup before Phoebe could answer. When her father slid it across the table to her, Phoebe forced herself to mumble a word of thanks.
"Personally, I'd like to know more about this true Starborn," Phoebe's mother said as breathlessly as one might share a bit of juicy gossip. Her father frowned deeply and harrumphed into his teacup.
"I'm curious as well. I was hoping our druid friends would look into the matter, but apparently they have more important things to do."
Phoebe glanced up from the steam that curled gently from her teacup. "What do you mean?"
"Castid has decided that it's time for his people to move on." Her father scowled so deeply that his face looked as if it was melting. Phoebe had never known him to be so disgusted by the druids, and it made her stomach twist in an anxious fit. "Personally, I think such a hasty departure is rather unfair given the way our connection ritual was derailed last night, but he insists the Stars have said their piece."
The knot in Phoebe's stomach tightened. She jumped to her feet, knocking the table and nearing tipping her untouched tea in the process. "When are they leaving?"
"Soon, I imagine," her father replied dismissively. "They started tearing down at sunrise."
All of Phoebe's lingering bitterness toward Rue vanished like a dream upon waking. Suddenly, all she felt was panic. It was impossible to know how long it would be before she saw her friend again, and she couldn't let Rue leave without at least trying to set things right between them first.
"I need to say goodbye to Rue," she announced as she turned on her heel and dashed from the kitchen. Behind her, she heard her mother wish her luck. Her father didn't say a word.
Even though it was midday, the compound was eerily quiet. Phoebe only saw a couple of her neighbors as she raced through empty streets and wove between buildings. She told herself this was a good sign — usually all of Ardent came out to see the druids off. Encouraged, she picked up her pace and ran as fast as her legs would carry her.
It was the silence that worried her. The clearing wasn't even in sight yet, but Phoebe knew that the air was too still and void of the usual life the druids breathed into the world. Still, she ran, refusing to slow down until she arrived at the mouth of the clearing. There, she let herself buckle at the knees, sweaty and out of breath.
She was too late: the encampment was gone.
Dozens of Phoebe's neighbors roamed the clearing. They carried rakes and pushed wheelbarrows, working quietly to restore the now-empty space. Around her, the world spun as regret and disappointment swelled in her chest. Rue had never left Ardent without saying goodbye before, and Phoebe was cut deep by it.
A neighbor—Phoebe's tutor—glanced up from where they were raking out what remained of the central bonfire and spotted Phoebe, who was still heaped at the edge of the clearing. They laid their tool in the well-trodden grass and ambled over to her.
"Everything alright, young Phoebe?" they asked.
"How long have they been gone?" Phoebe replied.
Her tutor considered the question as they wiped their brow with their sleeve. "About an hour, I'd say. Maybe a touch longer."
Any last hope Phoebe harbored of catching up with the departing caravan fizzled out completely. She dropped her face into her hands to hide her tears.
The reality of the situation hit her all at once, slamming into her like a gale force wind: Connor and Rue were gone.
Phoebe had never felt so alone.