“Yeah, Sel.” She frowns. “I didn’t hear every word of your argument on the plane, but I heard enough.”

I sigh. “He’s just… on the extreme self-loathing train, and I don’t think he’s going to get off anytime soon. He may need to be alone for a bit, and then we can talk. Or not? It’s hard to tell.”

“Oh, I’m certain he’s prowling around, furrowing those dark brows at every woodland creature and shadow, but he should know he can’t go it alone.” With that reasonable admonishment, she waves and slips into the connected bathroom.

The metallic sound of pots and pans being shuffled around in the kitchen reaches me through the cracked door, and my stomach growls in response. Even the idea of food is making my mouth water; I haven’t truly eaten in a day.

Outside the bedroom, the house is filled with small, homey sounds. Soft music plays on a stereo in the living room as I make my way through it, using one hand on the walls to keep balance. Somewhere in the house, another set of pipes protests before water flows through. William found his shower.

Jonas is riffling through one of the cabinets with his back to me when I walk into the small galley kitchen that runs along the back of the house. The window over the sink looks out onto the wooded backyard. Must be pretty during the day. Now, with no lights around the exterior of the cabin, the glass is a black pane staring back at me.

Jonas drops a large jar of pasta sauce on the counter without turning. Beside it are his other findings: a few cans of beans, two energy bars, a bag of rotini, and a jar of almond butter.

“Slim pickings,” I say.

“Worse than slim,” he mutters. He turns around, waving his hand at the counter of nonperishables. “Only thing that goes together here is the sauce and the pasta, so—” A cough cuts him short. “Sorry. So, I guess that’s what we’re having, unless I can find something else.”

I shrug. “Could be worse. Can I help?”

He grunts in assent and runs a hand through his silver hair. “You get the noodles started. I’ll keep looking for food that ain’t expired.” He coughs again, this time tapping a fist to his chest.

“You okay?”

He holds a hand up, nodding through another cough. “Just getting old, kid.”

I swallow and turn away, hoping to hide the expression on my face. If I had to guess, Jonas is right around thirty-five. My heart sinks, but I don’t think he wants my pity about Abatement. Besides, who would I be pitying here? Him or me?