Page 615 of End Game

Ronan starts opening it.

“I can do that.”

He glances at me.

I glance at the wrapper.

I've apparently been holding it without opening it.

“How long have I been just holding it?”

“Six seconds.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Seven now.”

I take it away from him and tear the package open.

My fingers work fine. They're just slower than usual, and I keep getting distracted by the sensation of the blanket against my skin whenever I breathe.

The first bite tastes mostly like chocolate-flavored drywall.

I eat another.

Ronan waits until I've swallowed before asking, “Name?”

I turn my head and stare at him.

His expression does not change.

“Seriously?”

“Answer the question.”

“Micah.”

“Where are you?”

“In your extremely expensive sex basement.”

“That isn't its official designation.”

“It should be.”

His mouth moves.

Barely.

“Day?”

That takes an embarrassing second longer. “Saturday.”

“Time?”

“No idea.”

“Acceptable.”