The Secrets of Jane: Reborn by Charlotte Mallory

Author:Charlotte Mallory [Mallory, Charlotte]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Owlery Publications LLC
Published: 2025-03-03T00:00:00+00:00

S O R E N

The rum burns as it slides down my throat, a poor distraction for the sense of wrongness clawing at my gut. The communal space buzzes with quiet murmurs and laughter, but it all feels distant, muffled—until the unease blooms into something sharper. Something visceral.

The glass tumbles from my hand as I stand abruptly, scanning the room for something I can’t name. Jane.

Ritter catches my movement, his sharp eyes narrowing. "What is it?"

I don’t answer him. My chest tightens as I close my eyes, reaching for the faint thread that connects me to her—the tether that exists with or without our consent. It’s quiet. Too quiet. The world narrows, and all I hear is my heart pounding like war drums in my ears.

“Jane,” I murmur, barely audible. My voice grows louder, rising like a storm. “Jane.”

Ritter is on his feet in an instant, following me as I tear out of the space. The humid air slams into me like a wall, my boots digging against the dirt as I make for the shanty where she should be. Where she has to be.

But it’s wrong. Everything about this is wrong.

The building feels like a corpse, hollow and dead. The space where Jane’s presence should light up like a beacon is nothing but emptiness.

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. The pressure in my chest is unbearable now.

Not again. Not this.

“JANE!” My voice scratches against my throat as I roar her name. The sound bounces off the nearby structures, mocking me with its void. I rush forward, nearly tripping over a body sprawled in the dirt; one of Ritter’s men. He doesn’t move. Another lies close by, their faces slack in unconsciousness—or worse.

I don’t stop to check. My boots splinter the door as I crash through, frantically scanning the room.

Empty.

My breathing is ragged, my hands trembling from fear and rage as I search the space, trying to reclaim any inkling of her aura.

“No, no, no…” The words spill from my lips like a prayer to the fucking gods who never listen.

Ritter steps in behind me, his presence as heavy as an anchor. “Where is my daughter?” His voice is low, dangerous.

I don’t answer him. My eyes fall to the floor—and freeze. Blood.

I drop to my knees, touching the dark stain. It’s dry. Old. My heart lurches as I close my eyes, forcing myself to feel for something, anything. But the energy is blocked, like a severed limb.

“There’s an obstruction,” I whisper, more to myself than Ritter.

“Where is my daughter!” Ritter snarls, his own desperation cracking through his stoic mask.

I rise on unsteady legs, my gaze snapping to the window. Something pulls me there, a shadow of an instinct that refuses to let me rest. I stagger outside through the front door, my chest heaving as I glance at the ground.

“Footprints,” I say hoarsely, pointing to the faint marks in the dirt.

Ritter crouches down, his face pale. “One set.”

One set.

It makes no sense. Why would she leave?

Why would she leave me?

My breath comes in sharp, shallow bursts as the tracks lead toward the dense jungle.

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