He leans into my ear as I strain to hear how close the server is. “You should kiss me every morning, you know,” he says. “We could die in here.”

I laugh nervously. I can’t pretend I don’t remember how I shuddered with passion when my lips were pressed to his forever ago. But now the space where I’d carved out something for him is flooded with grief and shame. I can’t. I just can’t be that person to him. Not right now. Not after what I’ve done. Not with so many unknowns of what lies ahead. I gaze down at my feet, unable to meet his eyes, before turning back around. As much as Jhamal is comfort, help—the one who put me back together—he is also a reminder of how I failed.

I step forward to put a little more distance between us to keep my mind clear. I can’t let him cloud my focus. We’re getting out of here today.

He clears his throat and I know that are-you-serious-look he’s making. That same look when I’d had the idea to dig our way out.

“There’s a hole in the ceiling. If we could just…,” I’d began.

He’d actually laughed at that one. And I mean, sure, it was ridiculous. Not one of my best ideas, but I hadn’t eaten in long while, and, well, I’d seen it on some old movie. I turn and sure enough his lips are pushed sideways.

“You think I’m joking?” I shove him off. “This plan will work.”

“Fine, I’ll go along. But—” He taps his cheek.

I roll my eyes and his hint of a smile dissolves.

“The mind is not above our tricks,” he says.

“We must go through the motions, keep living as much as we can every day, to maintain soundness of mind. To keep a firm grip on our sanity.”

His proposition to kiss me might be about soundness of mind like he says, but it’s equally about… kissing me. I ain’t dumb. This is his way of holding on. We eat, recite spells, tell stories, then sleep. Every day it’s the same thing. And Jhamal doesn’t get nightmares like I do, but he does have this faraway stare each morning. And he makes sure I fall asleep first. When I wake every morning, his gaze is always already glued to the ceiling. But when our eyes meet, he’s all warmth and optimism.

He’s starting to think we might really die here.

He just doesn’t want me to think it too.