“Working on your delusion problem,” she says, her voice strained with effort.
“What do you mean?”
“The hole. It’s too small. I need you to help me make it bigger.”
I hear her fingers scratching at the stone, trying to widen the opening between our cells.
“You won’t make much progress without tools,” I tell her. “It took me months to get it this size, and I had a metal fragment from a broken tray.” Which was taken from me the last time they rotated me out of this cell.
“Then help me,” she demands.
I hesitate, then move closer to the hole. “Let me see what I can do.”
I work at the edges of the opening, my fingers already raw from years of similar attempts. The stone is old, crumbling in places, but still stubborn.
We work in silence for what feels like hours, taking turns chipping away at the edges of the hole. Every few minutes, I pause to brush away debris and check our progress.
“We need to be careful,” I warn. “If the guards notice, they’ll move us.”
“Then we’d better not let them notice.”
After what must be several hours of work, the hole is noticeably wider—still not large enough to see through clearly, but bigger than before.
“I think that’s as far as we’ll get today,” I say, my fingers bloody and aching.
“One moment,” she says, her voice is closer to the hole now. “I want to try something.”
I hear her shifting.
“Can you see me now?” she asks.
I peer through the hole again then chuckle. “No. It’s still too dark.” I don’t tell her it’s really because she’s not there. She may be imagined, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings.
Can I get any more fucked up?
My wolf raises his head but doesn’t answer.
Yeah. I know.
She makes a frustrated sound. “I have another idea. Stay there.”
I hear more movement, then her voice again, directly at the hole. “Put your hand in.”
“What?”
“Your hand. Put it in the opening.”
Confused but curious, I slide my arm into the hole. It’s still too small for my hand to fit far, but I can feel the cool air from the neighboring cell.
Then I feel something. Heat. At first it’s a glancing brush,not even a proper touch. She makes a noise, there’s a scraping then I feel it.
A fingertip pressing against mine.
The contact is electric. Real. Undeniable.
I jerk back instinctively, then immediately press forward again, desperate to confirm what I felt.
Her finger is still there, waiting. I touch it cautiously, my own trembling.
