“Nightmares?”
“One.”
“Severe?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know where you were when you woke?”
“No.”
“What helped?”
Noah’s thumb moved across my knuckle.
“He did.”
Maeve looked at me.
“What did you do?”
“Reminded him of the room. The rescue. Things he could see or touch.”
“And physical contact?”
“Only after he asked.”
“Good.”
She opened the memory journal.
“You recorded several more fragments.”
“Fragments is generous.”
“What returned?”
Noah listed them.
The utility sink.
The dead outlets.
The radio.
The tape over the refrigerator light.
Owen’s crooked labels.
Maeve listened without correcting the bitterness in his voice.
“These are encouraging.”
“They’re meaningless.”
“They show stored information becoming accessible.”
“I don’t care about stored information.”
