Chapter 12: The Count

Maren pulled her hand away from his and scrambled back against the wall.

She sat up in the dark, dragging the sheet over her chest.

Her heart was going so hard it hurt.

Beside her Jonah stirred, and his eyes opened at once.

He looked at her face.

Then he looked at her hand, bare and shaking in her lap, and at his own hand lying open on the sheet.

He did not need to be told.

"The count stopped," he said, in a voice with no color in it. "When I slept."

"Don't."

"I fell asleep. I'm sorry. I meant to stay awake."

"You told me not to read you." Maren heard her own voice climb. "I read you."

"Yes."

"You counted."

"Yes."

"It was you."

Jonah sat up slowly, with his back against the wall, and put both hands on his knees.

He did not reach for her. He did not reach for the lamp.

"Ask me," he said.

"What did I see?"

"A table. A syringe. A monitor." His throat worked. "You."

"Say it."

"I held the syringe."

The room was very quiet. The steam knocked once beneath the floor.

She had thought she was ready for this. She had spent two weeks learning what his face did when he was afraid.

She had not been ready.

"You were in the room," Maren said. "You were there for all of it."

"Yes."

"Say the rest."

His eyes closed.

When he opened them they were wet, and he did not wipe them.

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