The ramen is warm. I ladle it into a bowl, careful not to overfill it.
I grab a spoon and stand there a second longer than necessary, grounding myself in the simple motions before I carry the bowl down the hall. Krueger follows. Luna breaks off ahead of us.
When I go back into the room, Luna is already at the foot of the bed, curled tight but alert, her eyes locked on Brooke. Krueger pads in behind me and stops near my hip, watching quietly.
She is sitting up slowly. Her eyes are swollen and unfocused, distant, but she is upright. Her fingers hover near the blanket like she doesn't know what to do with her own hands.
She looks at me, and something in her expression splits me open all over again.
I sit beside her and dip the spoon into the ramen, holding it near her mouth.
“Brooke,” I say quietly. “You need to eat.”
She doesn't look at me. Her gaze stays fixed on nothing, like something is still playing behind her eyes.
I slide an arm behind her shoulders and ease her upright. She doesn't resist, but she doesn't help either. Her weight settles against me.
I bring the spoon back to her lips. This time, she swallows.
“Good,” I whisper.
She says nothing.
I feed her another spoonful, then another. Her body accepts it without protest, like the choice has been taken away from her. Her arms stay slack in her lap. One wrist is wrapped in clean white gauze. The other hand rests against her thigh. Her shoulder has been stitched and dressed, and she winces every time it shifts even slightly.
Krueger inches closer, his nose lifting as if he wants to check on her, but he stops himself. Luna doesn't move at all.
I reach to adjust the blanket.
She flinches.
The reaction hits hard enough that I have to look away for a moment. She used to lean into my touch without thinking. Now her body reacts first, already bracing.
“I’m tired,” she sighs. Her voice sounds thin and worn down.
“I know, just a little more, then you can rest.”
I give her the last spoonful.
Her face tightens immediately. She gags, a sharp, broken sound tearing out of her throat. I'm already moving.
“Hey,” I grab the bucket by the door. “Hey, right here.”
I make it back just in time. She folds forward and throws up into it, her body shaking violently. When there is nothing left, it still doesn't stop. She keeps dry heaving, her breath hitching, her hands trembling.
I hold the bucket steady and keep one arm around her until it passes.
When she finally leans back against me, she is shaking all over.
“Seth.”
“I’m here,” I murmur. “I’m right here.”
“They made them eat people,” she whispers.
My eyes widen as I hold her.
“These weren’t bad people,” she continues. “They were innocent. They were taken to the manor. They did awful things to them. They killed everyone. Even Miles.”
