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The vibration of his deep laugh is a stark contrast to the setting. “That’s what you took away from that? Relax, that was like a decade ago. I’m pretty sure they’ve all skedaddled by now without me giving them cracker crumbs all the time.”

I stir my soup, stomach in knots. “So you’re saying I should think.”

He leans back against the wall, humming. “Ornotthink, even. Sometimes being down here felt like a vacation. No school work. No jobs. No events. Just the silence.”

I allow it to envelop us as I eat, feeling his fingers stroke through the knots in my hair. I wonder how Pace can look so comfortable here, kicked out on the cot as he stares into the distance, thoughts whirring, perhaps. But I know silence isn’t something I’m willing to take for long.

“How’s Whitaker?” I ask, still trying to process the way he came into the office, gun raised as if defying his father was something he did every day.

He shrugs. “Okay.”

I wait for more, but I guess that’s all I’m going to get.

Placing the empty bowl on the floor, I unwind the stethoscope from my neck, plugging it into my ears. The metal end isn’t even cold as I tuck it into the blanket, pressing it to my belly. I’ve been doing this off and on since Lex left it, filling the oppressive quiet with the thrum of life. I’ve gotten pretty good at finding the little drumbeat that blends in a rhythm with my own body.

Pace sits forward, pulling me into his side. “Is that…? Can you hear him?”

Shivering, I nod. “Do you want to hear? Take the earpieces.”

He gently plucks each side from my ears, plugging them into his own. I watch, fascinated, as his eyes widen, flicking up to meet mine with a crooked smile. “It’s fast.”

“It can be hard to find,” I whisper, holding the metal end in place for him.

Pace’s eyes drift to where the blanket is open, and he spits a soft curse, face falling. “I didn’t think to bring you clothes.” I shrug, but he’s already yanking the stethoscope from his ears and pushing to his feet. In one swift motion, he has his dark t-shirt pulled off.

I don’t make a fuss when he ducks down to push it over my head, guiding it gently over my back. He follows it down, though, pressing a long kiss to the swell of my stomach.

That’s where he is when footsteps approach. “Pace,” comes Thad’s voice. “Your thirty minutes are up.”

He groans quietly, lips skating upward as he straightens, tugging me into a kiss. He tastes like heat and flesh, the slightest edge of mint, and I’m beyond disappointed when Thad’s voice grows closer.

“Pace?”

Stiffly, he pulls back and reaches for the tray. “I’ll try to be back tonight,” he says.

* * *

“Sorry,”he says when I hiss, easing the brush through the knot in my hair.

Spinning the pasta around my fork, I tonelessly assure, “It’s fine.”

It’s not fine. I’m on the floor, the tray in my lap as I eat dinner. True to his word, Pace was able to make it down at precisely seven with more food, which is good because the quiet down here is somehow worse than the cold. It settles into me like an infection, even my thoughts numbing off to a hum.

“I’d never actually let you starve,” he says from his perch on the cot. There’s a tickle in my scalp that suggests he’s worked the knot free. On either side of my shoulders, his knees are spread, bracketing me. “Not unless something crazy happened. Like, what if there’s a zombie apocalypse.”

I snort. “Seriously?”

He runs the brush through in a long, victorious stroke. “Okay, or a societal collapse, or nuclear fallout, or a plague—”

“You really did think a lot down here, didn’t you?”

I can practically hear the grin in his voice. “Oh, you have no idea how many scenarios I’ve dreamed up for potential catastrophe. Toxic chemicals destroying the population. The whole palace getting carbon monoxide poisoning. An airborne virus that spontaneously removes hands.”

I dig my bread through the sauce. “Because they can’t unlock the door without hands.”

“Fucking exactly.” I shiver when Pace’s knuckles graze the back of my neck. “Lex thought I was crazy.”

“That’s obviously a very reasonable worry.” I pause, feeling my hair tug in different directions. “Are you… braiding my hair?”