"Not the observation room. Somewhere with no barriers, no medical equipment, no ferals to worry about." He was already walking, carrying me through corridors I didn't recognize. "My cabin. You're sleeping in an actual bed tonight if I have to tie you to it."
The image that conjured made heat bloom in my cheeks, even through the exhaustion.
"That's... a threat?"
Neal looked down at me. His eyes were dark. Hungry. The professional mask had cracked, and what was underneath made my breath catch.
"It's a promise," he said.
Neal's cabin was small.
Few rooms. A bed that took up half the space — larger than I'd expected, covered in a dark quilt. A desk piled with medical journals. A tiny kitchen that looked unused. A door that probably led to a bathroom.
He set me on the bed like I was made of glass.
"Stay," he said.
"I'm not a dog."
"Stay anyway."
He disappeared into the kitchen. I heard cabinets opening, water running, the clink of dishes. I should have protested. Should have insisted I was fine, that I could take care of myself, that I didn't need him to—
I was so tired.
I let myself fall back against the pillows. They smelled like him. I breathed it in and felt something in my chest loosen.
Neal returned with a tray. Soup — something homemade, from the smell. Bread. A glass of water.
"Eat," he said, setting it on the nightstand.
"I'm not hungry."
"I don't care." He sat on the edge of the bed. Close, but not touching. "Eat anyway."
I forced myself upright. Took a spoonful of soup. It was good — better than good. Rich and warm, sliding down my throat like comfort made liquid.
"You cook," I said, surprised.
"Sometimes." He watched me eat, his expression unreadable. "When I'm not too busy watching stubborn women destroy themselves."
"I'm not destroying myself."
"You're doing a very good impression of it." His voice softened. "Lumi. Why won't you let anyone help you?"
The question hit harder than it should have.
I set down the spoon. Stared at the soup, unable to meet his eyes.
"Because I'm the only one who can reach him," I said quietly. "Stone. The bond between us — it's the only thing that calms him. If I stop, if I slow down, he spirals. And we only have nineteen days left to prove he can heal."
"And what happens if you collapse? If you end up in a hospital bed instead of that chair?" Neal's hand found mine. Careful. Tentative. "Stone needs you. But he needs youalive. Functional. Not running on empty and pretending you're fine."
Tears burned behind my eyes.
I was so tired of pretending.
"I don't know how to stop," I admitted. "I don't know how to let go. Every time I try, I think about them — Stone, Cal'spackmates, all of them — and I can't. I can't just rest while they're suffering."
