His.
A hoarse, strange laugh bubbled out of Nate’s mouth. He tried to cover it with a cough.
That got Reed sharp all over again. “Did you find medicine?”
Panic flared in Nate before he remembered telling Reed he had a headache the day before. He nodded, throat dry from the thought that Reed knew how sick he really was—and why.
“You look better now.” The tips of Reed’s fingers skimmed Nate’s bare ankles. He smiled, but concern tightened his mouth. “I guess.”
“Youguess? I better wash up.” Nate pulled his hair free of its tie. It swept forward in a greasy curtain, and he wrinkled his nose at the smell of sweat and street.
“I think that’d be best for all of us,” Reed said, blowing Nate’s hair out of his face.
They were too close in that moment. Too much. Nate wanted to crack himself open and tell Reed everything—that he wasn’t a chem fiend, that it was worse.
The hatch slammed shut with a clang that made Nate jump right out of his thoughts. Brick emerged with the bag of food. She let it dangle from one finger, her wide bicep flexed. “Too heavy for you?”
“I got it that far, didn’t I?”
Before Brick could answer, Pixel leapt up and swung from Brick’s arm alongside the bag, her bright grin tugging a reluctant smile onto Brick’s stern face. Pixel dropped to her feet and grabbed the bag. She was small and wiry, with deep-brown skin and hair pulled tight into three ponytails that blossomed into tight curls. Her dark eyes lit with joy. “Apples!”
“Apples?” Reed asked, brow raised. His fingers still rested on Nate’s ankles, and Nate shivered. The weight of the day eased, as if Reed had plucked it from him, and for the first time in hours, he drew a full breath.
“They’re probably wormy,” he said.
“Are you trying to distract me?”
Nate laughed as Reed took off to investigate the fruit. “That’s what the peaches are for.”
Ducking behind a makeshift sheet-metal wall, Nate washed up in sour rainwater. He scrubbed the grime from his hands and fingernails. The water chilled him, and he focused on the iciness to ward off the heat Reed had left coursing through his body. By the time he returned, wrapped in a rag quilt, Sparks was finishing putting the food away under weighted lids that kept the rats out. Mostly.
Her hands moved swiftly, glossy brown curls in ringlets that brushed her shoulders. Without sparing Nate a glance, she asked, “How are you?”
His breath sucked in. At that, she looked up, one delicately plucked eyebrow arching. She had black eyes and a full mouth and a way of using silence as a weapon.
It’s a normal question. She’s not that suspicious.
But Sparks knew better than anyone else what sickness and lies usually meant. She’d kicked chem before she joined the gang.
He steeled his voice. “Tired. Had to take the long way back around a fight in the street.”
She hummed, the sound too low for him to know what to make of it, and climbed into her bunk. She pulled a blanket over her shoulders, dismissing him.
“You can’t distract me forever,” Reed said, startling him. He sat on the stained concrete floor beside Nate’s blankets and tossed a rag at Nate’s face with a thin smile.
Nate caught it and dried his hair. “A girl on the rails asked me where I lived.”
Reed frowned. “A girl on the rails ought to know better than that.”
His response confirmed Nate’s suspicions. It had been strange of her to press. “I didn’t tell her anything.”
“Of course you didn’t. What kind of medicine did you find to make your head feel better?”
“The herbalist on 57th gave me a tincture.” The lie slipped out smooth as a breath as he sat beside Reed. “There’s some tins of salve in my pockets for that scratch on Pixel’s ankle too.”
Reed’s smile faded. “Did the herbalist say what’s the matter with you? Why you’ve been feeling bad?”
“I told you it’s not catching, Reed. I won’t get any of you sick.”
