His expression fell.
I hated the disappointment.
“Not every correct answer has to be memory,” I said.
“It would be nice.”
“Yes.”
I locked the chair beside the couch.
Noah transferred with my help.
The effort emptied him.
By the time he settled against the cushions, sweat dampened his hair.
Marlowe climbed onto the floor beside him.
“Head?” I asked.
“Bad.”
I opened the medication bag.
Owen brought water.
Caleb dimmed the room and pulled the curtains halfway.
Noah swallowed the pills without argument.
“Do you feel sick?”
“No.”
“Vision?”
“Fine.”
“Any numbness?”
“Reid.”
“I’m checking.”
“You’re vibrating.”
I stopped.
Caleb touched my shoulder.
“We’ll go.”
“You don’t have to.”
“We’ve already frightened him with the stair machine,” Caleb said. “We’ll be downstairs.”
Owen crouched near the couch.
