I know what he probably saw. My eyes, glassy and blank as I stared at nothing, seemingly checked out of my head. But I was there. I saw everything, took in everything that was happening. I knew when the Soul Eater recovered, he'd come looking for us. I just couldn't make myself not long for death. And my despair was so complete, I couldn't speak to tell Nathan not to bother, to save himself.

I heard his thoughts, though, and his anger. Anger at me for mourning Cyrus, anger at himself for being angry with me, and fear that we would be found. If I sleep, I won't think, and he won't be able to find us.

So he climbed into the sleeping bag beside me and held me close, despite the fact that I'd probably assumed the temperature of the floor beneath us. We lay like that, probably for days, in the dark, because Nathan was afraid the light from the lantern would show through the cracks in the floorboards and give us away. He barely spoke to me, except to offer me blood, which I refused. Twice we woke to voices and footsteps upstairs. Nathan went completely still with fear beside me as we heard the intruders overturn bookshelves and tables in their destructive search.

The seclusion was good for me, though. With nothing else to concentrate on and nothing to distract me from my grief, I moved through it quickly. I didn't talk to Nathan—I wouldn't ask him to understand—but I did talk to myself, inside my mind. I began to understand why I couldn't speak. It wasn't a prison, but a retreat. I wouldn't have been able to put my pain into words, anyway. I taught myself to forget the pain of losing Cyrus, and remember the joy of loving him. The hatred I'd felt for him when he'd been my sire was important to remember, as well. It kept my sorrow in perspective. I had loved him, but I couldn't divorce him from the monster who'd made me, or it would hurt all the worse.

And when I woke one night—or day; it was hard to tell with no windows—I could talk again.

I rolled to my side and touched Nathan's face. He snapped awake as if waiting for me to come back to my senses, his eyes full of concern. "Carrie, are you all right?"

No, I'm not. "Why didn't you ever tell me about this place?"

A quick intake of breath warned me of the explanation ahead. "In case I ever had to use it. In case you… went to the other side again."

"Oh." I picked at the zipper on the sleeping bag. "I was never on the other side."

"You were always on the other side, Carrie." He touched my cheek. "Or on your own side. You've never truly been on my side."