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My eyes snapped open.

Isaiah waited several inches from my face, his body as tall as the bedframe, his head on the mattress, stretching to reach me.

“Hello,” I rasped uncertainly, and his tongue unfurled from his head.

Beyond Isaiah, another sound found me—soft breath, in and out.

I bolted upright.

In an armchair before the hearth, Patrick slept with his chin on his chest.

My slamming pulse slowed at the sight of him—purple eyelids, crossed arms, legs slack and too long for comfort. He seemed softer like this, the sharp edges of him muted in sleep.

I suddenly recalled a whisper in my ear telling me to lay down, to sleep.

He must have carried me to my bed, up all those flights of stairs.

I was dressed in the same clothes I’d worn the night before, less my shoes. There was a jug of water and a waiting glass at my bedside. A pocket watch with his initials etched into the back. The time was nearly noon.

“Lord,” I mumbled. I’d slept half the day through.

Patrick sighed in his sleep. Shifted slightly. Isaiah went to him and pooled at his feet. The fire behind him sputtered weakly.

In the Artisan School, there’d been many male and female models cycled through the classrooms for us to draw or carve or sculpt, to learn the human form. But mostly, the bodies had just been bodies. I’d often struggled to see the splendor.

But I thought this man before me ought to be carved into stone. My fingers itched to recreate him. I wondered if it was because he was truly special, or if it was that tether between us. Perhaps it colored my view.

I looked at the hands wringing in my lap. How intolerable it was to think of cutting him away while he was so close.

“You speak to yourself when you frown” came his voice.

I startled. Gripped my chest in fright.

Patrick watched me beneath heavy eyelids. “Always mouthing things under your breath. Like you’re having an argument with yourself.”

I exhaled in a gust, sparks of floating light igniting. “Sometimes I am.”

“Hmm. Don’t imagine anyone wins.” The timber of his voice did damning things to my insides. My blood raced. His eyes swept the lengthof me and everywhere his gaze touched, warmth followed. “How do you feel?”

Like I’d been trampled. Like I wanted to feel his mouth on mine. “Fine.”

“Drink the water,” he said, gesturing to the bedside table. “It’ll stave the headache.”

There was, indeed, a pick grinding a fine hole into my skull. “Thank you.” I swallowed it gratefully. Then, self-consciously, I said, “You slept here all night?”

“Sam had the evenin’ off,” he explained.

I frowned. “And you think I’ll disappear if I’m not guarded?”

“It’s not a matter of keepin’ you locked in,” he sighed. “It’s keepin’…otherslocked out. But in this case, you insisted I stay.”

“I—I did?”

He nodded, his eyes traveling down to my waist. “Many times.”

Mortification flooded me. He gave a weak smile. “I’ll leave if you want me to.”

“No,” I said, too quickly. Already I’d wasted half the day. Theo couldn’t flood the tunnels forever. “Unless,” I stumbled, “you have somewhere to be?”