Page 65 of Dose

“No.” I keep my voice quiet. “You’re not repeating this because I need it. You’re repeating it because you do.”

The silence between us is heavier than the one after our argument. He can be cruel when he is frightened; I learned that three days ago. This is the other thing he does. He builds procedures around the fear and keeps adding to them until he can pretend there is no uncertainty left.

“Five days,” he says. His voice has gone low and precise. “In five days, you walk into a facility controlled by people with a death clause attached to your name.”

“After the entry team secures the wing.”

“If they secure it. If the plans are current. If Korte hasn’t anticipated exactly what we learned in Atlanta.” His right hand closes at his side. “I can plan around guards, power loss, contaminated air. I cannot build a contingency in which they take you from me and I remain useful.”

“You’re not worried that I failed the route,” I say.

“No.”

“You’re worried that a correct route won’t be enough.”

His eyes meet mine. “Yes.”

The answer is worse for being honest.

I take his right hand and place it against my ribs. My heart is beating too fast. He feels it immediately.

“I’m frightened too,” I tell him. “But if we use training to feed the fear, we’ll still be standing at this wall tomorrow morning.”

His fingers spread against my side.

“One more run,” I say. “Not the same route. Give me a problem I haven’t memorized. Then we stop.”

He studies my face, and I watch him force his breathing to slow.

“All right.”

This time, he removes half the things I have relied on. My escort is injured. The service corridor is blocked. The primary and secondary rally points are both unavailable. I have no audio and no facility plan. There is smoke moving under the eastern door.

I get one decision wrong. He tells me why. I begin again and find a route neither of us marked, through the specimen-transfer bay and out beside the waste dock.

When I finish, Theon is quiet.

“That was better,” I say.

“Yes.”

“Do you feel better?”

“No.”

I almost smile. “Neither do I.”

He lifts our joined hands and puts his mouth against my knuckles.

The rest of the afternoon is quieter. We review the hand signals Damon will test tomorrow. Theon watches me with an attention that has nothing to do with my answers. I understand what he is doing because I do it too: learning the details while we have them. The small scar at his temple. The pattern of callus along his fingers. The way fear makes him more controlled, not less.

He isn’t afraid I will fail an assessment. He is afraid there won’t be enough time to know me completely.

There would never be enough time for that. I don’t tell him. He is already having a difficult day.

Evening settles over the room without sunlight to announce it; the overhead lights shift to their warmer setting. Theon finally takes down the plan and folds it with his usual care.

“I know you have it,” he says.