“If you keep secrets from me, I can’t keep you on,” Reed said.
Nate studied his callused hands. Reed only meant well for the others. He was being reasonable. Any sane man would take one look at Nate’s half-crazed, stifled laughter and send him packing.
But it hurt. He was trying so hard, and nothing was going right, and he was getting dangerously close to giving up—something no one in the Withers could afford to do. That was the path to the stillness.
He would be no good to any of them after that.
Nate’s eyes heated, and he closed them tightly, fighting the swell of emotion that threatened to crumble him in front of Reed and the others. “He doesn’t give me chem, Reed,” he choked out. That, at least, was the truth. “I wish you’d believe me. I’m not—” His voice broke. He wasn’t a fiend. But what difference did it make?
“Nate.” Reed leaned into him, skin warm and soft. He pulled Nate’s face to his shoulder. “It’s been a hard few days for all of us.”
Nate muffled a sob against Reed’s warm shirt. “I’m trying.” He was trying harder than Reed would ever know. He shook, struggling not to pour snot and tears all over Reed.
Reed had never held him like this before, arms strong and certain—warm hand stroking his back. Nate didn’t want to let go. But he lifted his face, wiped his eyes, and showed Reed that he could smile without any more blubbering. This wasn’t about affection. It was necessity. Each one of them had broken down crying at one time or another.
“You need a meal.” Reed dragged his thumb across Nate’s cheek. “We saved most of the food, and Brick got the stove set up. There’s stew on.”
“I need—” Nate choked to a halt. His face heated where Reed’s thumb skimmed away tears. Vicious loneliness tore at his insides.
Is this what Alden’s hunger feels like?
Reed gave him a long look and held very still, as if lashed down by the thread of distrust woven between them.
“Stew, it is, boss,” Nate said, forcing a smile. He stood. “You can. . .I’ll start going through what we brought over and see if I can’t get a few trip wires hooked up to a siren before night falls.”
“Pixel’s organized your things. Have her help you,” Reed said. “There’s not much else to keep her busy here.”
Nate followed the smell of meat to the little cook pot in the corner. He couldn’t stop thinking about the tightness around Reed’s eyes—wariness he couldn’t blame on Reed’s wound.
That night, the wind grew cold, and they huddled around the stove to share a bowl of thin stew. The crank-light cast long shadows.
“I walked around the rest of the floor, made sure everyone knows we’re no threat to their spaces,” Reed said. “No one’s fond of the Breakers up here.”
Brick passed the bowl to Pixel. “Surprised anyone said that right out.”
“I’m not.” Sparks laughed. “Reed might as well be a Servant for the way folks take to him.”
Reed ducked his chin, a shy grin dimpling one cheek. He was good at a lot of things, but taking compliments gracefully wasn’t one of them.
Nate shivered from more than the chill. Sparks nudged him with the stew bowl, and he took his turn, determined to quit staring at Reed’s mouth.
“More kids than I expected ’round here,” Sparks said. She caught Pixel’s eyes lighting up and smiled. “I’ll take you with me down a couple of floors where they’re teaching letters tomorrow.”
Nate touched his boot against Pixel’s. “Only if she helps me finish the ductwork in the morning. We’ve almost got it, right, Pix?”
They each took only a few bites, saving the most for Pixel, who finished it without complaining about the bitter taste and chewy dried meat. For the first time since Reed had gotten hurt, it felt like family again.
Sparks took the empty bowl from Pixel and wiped it clean. She glanced up at Nate. “I found a bunch of rubble down the hall. If Brick’ll haul it for me, we’ll build a little wall for you.”
“Yeah.” Brick snorted. “So you can get from one side of the room to the other without crawling like a bug.”
Nate’s legs were still weak from getting close enough to the edge to smell the rancid latrines one floor below. He ducked his head, eyes gone hot with a startling rush of relief. “Thank you.”
Once Sparks and Brick got the wall up, Nate’s heart stopped jumping around behind his ribs every time he stood up. He spent days rewiring the electricity in the narrow crawlspace.
“Think you can fit in there?” he asked Pixel, aiming a crank-light at the ragged tear in the ceiling.
“Better than you can!”
