3
SILAS
“She’s been in there for almost a week.” I lean my elbows on the white marble that tops the island, my brain a twisted nest of briars. I can barely hear myself think, let alone hear inside anyone else’s head. Normally, the kitchen is of some comfort, a blank slate of smooth modern lines, not so much as a picture to distract me. But there is no comfort in that now.
“I brought her dinner yesterday,” Draynor says, spreading his palms on the countertop beside me. He doesn’t have to say it — we saw him do it. For six days, we’ve watched one another bring her food and water, listened to whispered words of comfort when one of us is lucky enough to be let inside the room. And the rest of the time, we’ve been watching the sky peel back the layers of sun and cloud from dawn to twilight un
