I carried him through the stairwell.
At the landing, his head fell against my shoulder. His breathing remained shallow, but regular.
Inside the apartment, Marlowe rose from the rug and followed us into the bedroom.
I lowered Noah onto the mattress.
He curled immediately onto his side.
“Medication.”
His hand remained against his head.
I brought the prescribed breakthrough dose and water. He tried to hold the glass, but his fingers did not close properly around it.
I supported him while he swallowed.
“Did you take anything else today?”
A slow head shake.
“Vision?”
He closed both eyes.
“Noah.”
“Bright.”
I drew the curtains and left the green lamp on in the hall.
His body tightened beneath the quilt.
I touched his shoulder.
“Do you want me here?”
He did not answer.
I waited.
Finally, his hand moved across the sheet until it found my wrist.
“Stay.”
I lay beside him fully clothed.
Marlowe pressed against the backs of his legs.
Noah’s breathing gradually slowed.
The medication pulled him toward sleep, but the tension did not entirely leave his face.
“My money,” he murmured.
“Safe.”
“For later.”
