Page 596 of End Game

He did not mention it.

Neither did I.

Hit points are a poor metaphor for grief. Nobody gets to tell you how many you have left.

Grief does not become less real because someone remains functional around it.

Tonight, Dex is working. Griffin and Cami disappeared upstairs almost an hour ago after Cami announced loudly enough for the entire house to hear that she intended to make use of her husband, which Griffin accepted with considerably more composure than I would have expected from him a year ago.

Micah and I are the only two awake downstairs.

He appears in the doorway to my bedroom while I am halfway through reorganizing an encounter I already organized yesterday.

I look up.

He has changed out of his work clothes into black sweatpants and an old T-shirt. His hair is still slightly damp from the shower, and he is barefoot.

Nothing about him looks distressed.

That means very little.

“You busy?” he asks.

“No.”

I close the notebook.

He stays in the doorway for a second, then steps inside and shuts the door behind him.

That means more than very little.

I wait.

Micah does better when silence is not treated like something he has to fill immediately. Most people learn that about him eventually.

“I want a scene.”

The words are straightforward enough that I do not react outwardly, although my attention sharpens immediately.

“With me?”

He gives me a look.

“I’m clarifying.”

“Yeah. With you.”

“What kind?”

His gaze shifts toward the bookshelf behind me.

That hesitation makes me pay more attention.

“I want you to hurt me.”

There are several responses available to me.

Concern is not one of them.