Conlan frowns at my pancakes and nods. “We could all get it this
time.” He nods again. “We could die.”
“You could,” he agrees. That’s not
exactly what I want to hear. With a wry grin, he adds, “This might
be the best place for you right now.”
“Not without Dylan,” I tell him, and
his smile fades. “Can’t you move him in here—”
“No.”
I try to rein in my anger. “Not even to this
corridor? Please—”
But Conlan shakes his head, adamant. “I
can’t. You have to understand—”
“Stop sayingthat!” I cry, and
before I can stop myself I grab the pillow beside me, launch it
across the room at him. It falls miserably short, though, landing
in the middle of my cell. “Jesus, stop telling me to understand.
What the hell is it you want me to get? That I’m supposed to rot in
this damn cell until you think it’s safe to let my friends in to
save me? That I’m supposed to stay here alone? What happens if you
all die out—what happens to me then? To Dylan?”