Rebel
We didn't talk on the drive back. Tamara kept stealing looks at me in the dark of the car, and I kept my eyes on the window and the bridge sliding past and the lights of Rutberg falling away behind us. The feeling in my chest stayed pulled taut the whole way, anchored to a man whose name I didn't have, in a town I was leaving.
I didn't know myself, but I had the distinct feeling that I was not a woman who anchored herself to any man, so the feeling made me feel uneasy, like I'd just stepped into a snare.
By the time we reached the packhouse it was past midnight. The corridors were dark. Tamara walked half a step behind me out of ten years of habit, and I let her, because correcting it tonight felt like more than either of us had the energy for.
In the room she went straight for t
