But Whitman snorted delicately. “I’m afraid I wasn’t invited for sushi. Some of us have to work for a living.”
“You got cages of empaths to check on?” Reece interjected, as he gave the first box of books a cursory glance and saw nothing but medical textbooks and Latin. “With little exercise wheels and water bottles and bars we can push for vegan pellets?”
“I see you think you’re cute,” she said, which Reece translated to mean that her blank face notwithstanding, he could, in fact, annoy her. “I’m an endocrinologist, same as Jason.”
Whateverthatwas. Reece dropped to a crouch next to another box of books, lifting one cardboard flap. “Do endo-whatevers have any books with smaller words—”
“No!”
The unmasked panic in Whitman’s shout split the dead air, and hit Reece like a sucker punch as she leaped forward and yanked his hood. He was wrenched away from the box and toppled off balance, pain splitting his head as he smacked the hardwoods at her feet.
“Dr. Whitman.”
Grayson’s tone of voice hadn’t changed. But Whitman dropped Reece’s hood like it’d burned her.
“I was only trying to move him,” she said, hands raised in a protest of innocence. “He fell too easily.”
“Because he’s not capable of a lick of self-defense,” Grayson said, still neutrally. “He’ll let you break his skull before he takes a chance of hurting you.”
Reece slowly sat up, rubbing the sore spot on his head. He glanced between them. Grayson wasn’t going through the desk anymore, just watching Whitman.
The fear flickered on Whitman’s face again, and Reece frowned. Nothing about Grayson’s words was threatening. What was she so afraid of?
Whitman said meaningfully, “The contents of that box are off-limits to an empath.”
Grayson paused.
Reece hated this place that hated him so much. “It’s justbooks.” He lunged for the box before she could stop him again. “I do know how to read words, not just people—”
He saw inside the box and choked.
Grayson must have heard it, because he leaped over the desk with the ease of a hurdler and crossed the room in three long strides. He crouched in front of Reece and glanced in the box.
Next moment, he said over his shoulder, to Whitman, “We need the room.”
“But—”
“I’m asking for privacy, Dr. Whitman.”
The door slammed shut a second later.
Reece’s breath was coming too fast, sweat beading on his brow. “Why did Owens have a whole box of books on—on—” He couldn’t say it, couldn’t bring his lips to form the wordtorture.
“It’s not real.” Grayson shifted closer. “It’s just books.”
“Pictures on the covers.” Reece’s chest was drawing up tight, phantom pain crawling over his skin, his back, the soles of his feet, and the palms of his hands. At least Grayson had moved between Reece and the box. He was blurry and edged by black dots, but he was all Reece could see. “It’s real, those are real things—”
“They’re books. Paper and ink. I know your brain is conjuring the real people those things happened to and you’re feeling pain for them, but you’re gonna give yourself an aneurism.”
Grayson’s emotionless voice sounded more unnatural to Reece’s ears than ever and his face was still soblank. Reece screwed his eyes shut.
“Reece, you gotta breathe.”
No, it was so much worse with his eyes closed, no distraction from pain, the images forcing themselves through his mind in an endless parade—
“Reece.” Grayson repeating his name got Reece’s eyes to open. “Stay with me. I’d try an old trick and say focus on me, but I don’t make you feel better.”
Reece shook his head, too fast. “Better than the books.”
