Greta comes in without knocking. She never knocks when something has already gone wrong.
“Brenna has the list,” she says.
I stop with my hands in the water.
“What list?”
“The names from Bern’s records.”
I take the cloth from the basin and wring it out. Slowly. Water streams between my fingers and hits the metal bowl in a steady patter.
“How many?”
“Twenty-three across the southeast. Two from Ravenclaw.” Greta’s mouth tightens. “The Bowen boy who left in oh-four. And Pell’s daughter.”
The cloth twists harder in my hands.
“Has she told him?”
“At four this morning.”
“Of course she did.”
Greta looks toward the corridor, though no one is there. “He’s been at the south fence since five. Won’t let anyone near him.”
I set the cloth aside. My hands are red from hot water. They look worse than they are.
“I’ll find him after rounds. Maybe I can give him something to help. Valerian, maybe.”
Greta watches me for a moment. She is carrying a tray with two mugs of tea and three heel-ends of bread under a cloth. Someone will eat them because she puts them down and waits until they do.
“Eat something first,” she says.
“I will.”
“No, you won’t.”
I reach for the next cloth.
She leaves the tray on the counter anyway.
Rounds take most of the morning. Tomas’s breathing is still shallow. I adjust his dose and sit with him until it steadies. Dara has eaten half her bread and asks about Greta’s broth. Sparrow is curled up, taking a nap. Everyone in the wing is carrying the weight of Bern’s list, whether they’ve heard the names yet or not.
By mid-morning, I’ve done what I can for them. What I can’t do is sit in the dispensary staring at a tray of cold tea while twenty-three names and a five-digit number run circles in my head.
I go looking for Arden.
She is in the herb beds behind the lodge, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hair tied back, hands deep in the soil around a row of feverfew. Lachlan is nowhere in sight, which means he is probably close enough to hear if she calls and far enough away to pretend he isn’t hovering.
Arden doesn’t look up when I reach the path.
“If you’re here to tell me Lachlan is lurking by the woodpile, I know.”
“I’m not.”
“Good. I’m pretending not to.”
I stand at the edge of the bed and wait.
