I keep seeing his face in the sun. The way he looked at his own hands when the light fell across them, and nothing happened to his skin. That's what stays with me. That's what my sleeping brain couldn't have invented.
I place my hand on his chest. His hand finds mine. He doesn’t say anything for a long stretch. When he does, his voice is low.
“I haven’t felt morning light since I was forty years old.”
“I know.”
I press my palm flat over the crescent mark. It pulses. Constant.
“You weren’t dormant,” I say.
“No.”
His thumb moves across my knuckles. “I don’t know what to say about what happened.”
“Then don’t.” I find his face. Trace the line of his jaw with one finger. “We have time for it later.”
“We have time.” He says it back like he’s testing the shape of the words.
Neither of us moves for a while.
“I need to see my sister before we leave,” I say, sitting up.
“Okay.”
I bend down. Press my forehead to his for one breath. Then I get up to dress.
Simone has a legal pad.Yellow, college-ruled, the kind they sell in packs of three at the drugstore. She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed with it balanced on one knee.
She looks up when I come in.
“Sit down,” she says. “I have questions.”
I sit on the edge of her bed. She flips to the third page, where a fresh list starts.
“The heartbeat thing.” She taps the pen against the pad. “I can hear them through walls now. For everyone that’s human in this wing. Dalton, the donors. Is that normal?”
“For us. Yeah.”
“How far does it go?”
“Depends. In the compound, I can pick up most of the building if I focus. Outside, it thins.” I lean back on my hands.
She writes something down.
“The feeding. How often. How much. Whether the hunger levels out or just gets easier to manage.”
“Levels out. Took me about a month before I stopped feeling like I could drain a room.”
I watch her write that down, the pen moving in quick efficient strokes. “You’re making a manual?”
“I’m making a record.” She doesn’t look up. “Nobody gave me one when I woke up. I’m writing the one I should have had.”
“There’s something else.” She sets the pen down. “The others are still there, Celeste. On those farms.” Her hand is still against the pad.
“I know.”
I don’t tell her we’re working on it. I don’t tell her about Erik’s wolves or Julian’s models or the three distribution hubs mapped in the conference room.
