I adjusted the blanket where it had tangled around his hip.
“Your arm?”
“Pulled it.”
“I’ll have someone check it.”
“In a minute.”
He opened his eye and stared at the ceiling.
The fear had receded, but it had left him drained.
“What was the dream?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t remember any of it?”
“Pieces.”
I sat again, still holding his hand.
He gave no sign that he wanted it back.
“What kind of pieces?”
Noah’s brow furrowed.
“Noise.”
“Voices?”
“No. Metal.”
His fingers shifted against mine.
“Something hitting. Three times.”
He tapped his thumb against the side of my hand.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
“Then what?”
“Dark.”
His breath caught.
“Cold, even though I know I wasn’t in water. I couldn’t see anything, and every time I tried to move, the dark got heavier.”
I hated the image his mind had made for itself.
“Did you know where you were?”
